Adrift in a Sea of Stars
by Animus of Masada
Summary: The Normandy SR1 survives the Collector ambush, leaving Shepard and his crew to deal with the Collector threat from an entirely different perspective. The things we take for granted are about to change...
1. Highly Unlikely Scenarios

**A/N: Well hello there, people! Long time no see. For those of you wondering where I've been, it's a long story. Anyway, I'm a big fan of Mass Effect, and this plot bunny demanded to be written. Probably won't continue it, but if someone wants to adopt it, I'm all ears.**

**If you haven't played Mass Effect (1 or 2) yet, then go and do it, now. They're amazing games.**

**Hope you enjoy, and please review!**

Adrift in a Sea of Stars

Chapter 1: Highly Unlikely Scenarios

"_All stations secure for transit. Approaching relay in five." _

Shepard had long since adjusted to the procedure—growing up on ships most of his life made it as normal to him as brushing his teeth. He didn't even need to abandon his train of thought as he grabbed the nearest rail. "—and I expect you to forgo biotics for this wrestling match. No matter how tempted you get."

Liara was about to reply when the ship lurched slightly, her whole body tingling and feeling lighter than usual, but only for an instant. She noticed that he finished his sentence less than half a second before the jump—he must have practiced this timing many times during his childhood. Regaining her composure, she released her grip on the handrail.

"You told me to wear heavy armor—few biotic adepts would ever do so. It interferes with our abilities. It is also inflexible." She knew he had a reason. Nearly everything about his training always did. Usually, she enjoyed trying to guess as to what it was, but this time, she simply couldn't fathom it.

Lifting an eyebrow and slightly smiling—a quirk she had always enjoyed about him—Shepard spoke as if gently pointing out an obviously failed spot check. "Think outside the box on this one, Liara."

She furrowed her "brows" in frustrated thought. Humans were quick to point out that they had a knack for "thinking outside the box." Even after the metaphor was explained to her, Liara still didn't understand how such a concept could be measured consistently across an entire species. She tried to rack her brain for the answer she had somehow overlooked. Very few adepts wore heavy armor, as it interfered with their highly trained and refined movements and mentalities that were vital to apex biotic performance.

"You never know when you'll be thrown into a highly unlikely situation," he explained after several moments of silence. "I can't prepare you for all of them, but I can help you understand how to adapt as quickly and effectively as possible. Scenarios like these help you learn to think in new ways."

"Head for the elevator," he continued. "I'll catch up; I need to talk to Ash for a moment."

A quick nod was her reply as she walked towards the lift. She wanted to laugh; she wouldn't have guessed that line of reasoning in a hundred years._ Maybe the humans aren't incorrect about that knack, after al—_

There was no warning over the intercom this time. She was flung sideways, straight off her feet, into the nearest wall. Even through the sudden, sharp maneuvering, she could tell something else was amiss, as a horrifying noise—something between a screech and metal tearing—ripped through the ship.

Jeff "Joker" Moreau wasn't known for being serious and disciplined. In fact, some of the crew commented that he seemed like the guy who tried to do as little work as possible, if only he wasn't stuck in the pilot's chair all the time. When Shepard heard those conversations, he would laugh as he walked off to who-knows-where, leaving the gossiping crew bemused.

He knew. One look at his file, Jeff mused, and the Commander understood that no one with a serious disability like his could prove to be an ace pilot, both inside the academy and out, with anything short of unparalleled determination and focus. Shepard never once looked down on him, not even on their first day together. In fact, he joked right back, offered advice while still conveying his respect of the pilot's abilities alongside.

One of the first bits of advice he gave was to prepare for the unexpected and not hesitate to react strongly if the situation called for it. Simple, and nothing he hadn't heard before, but the way he said it made all the difference. "I'm not shitting you," he had said, "you're the pilot of this ship. We're going up against a fleet and a dreadnaught capable of landing on a planet. A few seconds of you not giving the possibility of a threat your fullest respect _will_ get us all killed."

As soon as the ensign said that the unknown ship had changed to an intercept course with the _Normandy_, he knew Shepard had been absolutely right. An intercept course meant that it had detected them and pinpointed their position. Worse, it meant that they had their spinal cannon pointed right at the _Normandy_.

He didn't hesitate. He didn't take the time to warn anyone or to wait for confirmation. Running his hands across the controls with long-honed precision and the grace of a master, Jeff jerked the _Normandy_ into a high-powered burn straight towards the nearby planet, Alchera. He wouldn't be the first pilot to use a planet's magnetic field, gravity well, gases, and temperature to confuse an enemy's sensors and gunnery.

And not a moment too soon. Sensors indicated that the outer layer of the dorsal hull was just…gone. Jeff grit his teeth, bringing the ship into another evasive maneuver. The high-speed entry into the atmosphere was extremely risky—the hull and delicate systems could be melted, especially with so much of it gone. But Alchera had a thin atmosphere; he'd rather risk a crash landing here than getting ripped to shreds by whatever was out _there._

When no further attack occurred, Joker brought the frigate into a more normal descent, gave a cursory glance to make sure that the hull integrity was acceptable, and keyed the intercom. Only now had he realized his hands had been shaking slightly. "Sorry about that, everyone! We're under attack! Commander, I need you up here ASAP!"

Such violent maneuvering, without any warning, was dangerous to the crew. If he was lucky, none of them had suffered any permanent injury. If he wasn't…he didn't even want to think about it.

Gunny Elison had once told Shepard that pain was often a good thing. At the time, he had imagined a rather witty retort that Elison should have had to say that after going through his own training regimen.

Now, however, he could not find truer words. Amidst the disorientation and shock was a hell of a lot of pain. He knew he was alive, for starters. Stubborn as he was, he decided that that would be good enough to get moving.

"_Sorry about that, everyone! We're under attack!"_

_No shit,_ the smart-ass part of him thought.

"_Commander, I need you up here ASAP!"_ He went straight for the cockpit, maneuvering past the injured and dazed crewmen as he combatted his own dizziness. As much as it hurt to see such a scene, he was needed above, _now_. He shoved his helmet on, engaged the seal, and moved forward.

As his senses cleared, he could tell that they were still moving, though not smoothly enough to still be in space. Emergency lighting lined the floor of the CIC; the ceiling was completely devoid of working lights. "Sitrep!" he shouted, reaching the cockpit after what seemed far too long. Pressley was on the floor, but moving.

"We're flying in atmosphere. Most of the dorsal hull was sheered off by whatever attacked us. Hull integrity is probably shot to hell right now, but we're still flying. Our evasive maneuvers brought us into a fast atmo-entry; any systems with critical components on the top of the ship are trashed. Multiple systems overloaded, some offline. Best I can tell, whatever ship attacked us can't track us down here, but we can't stay here for long. Nowhere safe to land, weather conditions too unstable anyway. Fuel aside, what's left of the dorsal hull won't last long. As for the rest, you're going to have to ask Engineering."

Scanning the damage report diagrams rapidly, Shepard came up with a course of action. "We'll need to get everyone aft of the cockpit into the Crew Deck. Steady as she goes, Joker!" Engaging the plasma screen built to keep the cockpit crew safe in case of depressurization of the CIC, he moved aft, getting everyone on their feet and moving them down below.

It took longer than he would have liked, but with the danger of the CIC losing atmosphere, he had no choice. Making his way back to Joker, he keyed the intercom for Engineering. Unsurprisingly, Tali was the first to answer.

"Fortunately, hull integrity is doing well, all things considered," she said, her accent thick in times of stress, "we're not leaking atmosphere in the lower decks. I don't think we took any direct damage below the CIC, except for the main fuel line, which was cut off automatically to prevent us all from blowing up. Both of our main tanks are compromised. We're leaking fuel, and fast."

"Can we make a jump?"

"No. Several systems critical to powering and maintaining a jump were overloaded, and some of the power lines are fried. And that's just the damage I'm seeing at a glance."

"How long would it take you to get us ready for a jump?"

"If we weren't flying in atmosphere, and we weren't missing part of the ship, _and_ if I could start repairs without risking blowing us all up? Half an hour, at best."

_Wonderful_. With the vital information sorted, he finally let some of the worry creep into his voice. "Is everyone okay down there?"

"We're all shaken up, but I don't think anyone is in serious danger," she said, professional even under extreme pressure.

He let out a small sigh of relief, but switched back to the command mentality. "Get to work on that fuel line. Top priority." He knew he was asking for the impossible, but right now that was better than nothing.

Shepard's mind raced for options. Without FTL, they didn't have a chance of escaping the enemy vessel. They certainly didn't have time to get off a distress beacon or a message of any kind. No one would bother even starting a search for a while. Escape pods would be easy to pick off, once found, but they'd have no way of knowing when it would be safe to activate the homing beacons. With a serious fuel leak, they couldn't keep flying in atmosphere for much longer. Landing was also out of the question; weather conditions were too rough and the ground was definitely not stable. Could he risk it, anyway?

"Tali, can we try a landing?"

"The ship wouldn't fall apart or anything, but the CO2 scrubbers were fried. We'd run out of air in a couple of hours, and life support isn't in good shape. The temperature could reach dangerously low levels, even inside the ship." Shepard noticed bitterness in her tone; he could understand that it probably felt like her home was falling apart.

"Roger that. Do your best about the fuel situation. Shepard out."

So, he surmised: running wasn't an option, and neither was hiding. That left one alternative.

Attack.

"Ensign Lovell, did you get any readings from our attacker?"

"Affirmative." Despite being shaken and dazed, her voice was steady and her motions sharp. "It was big; at least cruiser-sized. Maybe larger. It was using an energy-based weapon; it bypassed our barriers entirely."

GARDIAN systems, or their equivalent, were likely present, the Commander mused. Still, a frigate was durable enough to withstand it for a time. With her JAVELIN torpedo armament, the _Normandy_ had enough punch to disable a dreadnaught with well-placed shots. Electronic countermeasures (ECM) could give them a chance to get in close. "Joker, we're going on the offensive. Take us into low orbit and see if you can find where that ship is located. Dive back into atmosphere if need be. Arm JAVELINs and prep ECM."

"Aye, sir."

"This is the Commander," Shepard said through the intercom. "We're in one piece for now, but we've got a whole lot of problems preventing us from staying in atmosphere. We can't run, and we can't hide, so we're going to fight. I want everyone capable of donning emergency rebreathers to do so now, and everyone else to get inside the medbay. Seal all doors and bulkheads. In two minutes, prepare for evasive maneuvers. We're sure as hell not going down without a fight."

"Target located!" Lovell announced. "Five and a half kilometers starboard! Heading two-three-seven by zero-nine-four!"

"I got it," Joker replied.

The Commander tensed as the ship accelerated to maximum velocity. He hated naval battles—there was little he could do compared to land-based engagements.

The unknown cruiser was closer than he anticipated—he guessed that they were searching for the frigate, never expecting their prey to come charging at them point-blank.

"Firing cannon!" The spinal cannon spit a heavy slug at the cruiser—but at something that size, they would need a very lucky shot to make a difference.

"Energy spike on enemy cruiser!" The mouth of the ship—a ship larger than most dreadnaughts, he now realized—glowed yellow, an eerie reminder of what they faced.

"Deploying ECM!"

Shepard watched a bright yellow light streak past the _Normandy_'s portside cameras—too close.

"Three kilometers!"

"They're firing again!"

This time, the laser went wide, missing by at least several dozen meters. Apparently, this weapon's accuracy severely worsened up close.

"One kilometer! Firing JAVELIN's!" The deck was shook by several noticeable _thump_-s as the torpedoes—each containing several perfectly timed mass-effect warheads, designed to create a violent mix of mass-raising and mass-lowering fields to literally shred the target to pieces—rocketed towards the dreadnaught. Joker veered the _Normandy_ clear of a collision course, bringing the vessel about behind the mystery ship. He saw explosions riddle the alien dreadnaught—but it was still turning, engines definitely not disabled like he had hoped.

"Keep us on its stern!" Shepard ordered.

"We don't have enough fuel!" Joker countered. "That last burn took up most of it. We have enough for a quick max burn, but that's it. From there on, it's maneuvering thrusters only."

"We're out of JAVELIN torpedoes, Commander," Lovell gently informed. Suddenly, the display lit up and her expression changed. "Enemy ship on a pursuit course. It's accelerating…it hasn't overtaken us yet, but it probably will eventually."

_Damn_. The spinal cannon wasn't enough firepower to make a difference. And if the enemy had bombers or interceptors—as nearly all ships that size did—then they wouldn't have time to pray for a miracle. Traditional naval combat was completely out of the question. So he'd had to resort to creative tactics. A small smile played at his lips. "Joker, use the maneuvering thrusters to bring our bow to bear on the dreadnaught. When I give the order, return our bow to this heading and execute that last max burn. Oh, and send out a distress signal. Pressley, you have the deck."

When Shepard reached the Crew Deck, he shouldn't have been surprised when most of the crew turned to look at him, masks on, expecting some kind of direction and report. He wasn't surprised, though, to see Garrus, Ashley, and Liara, all in hardsuits and armed to the teeth.

"It seems we're in a bit of a hairy situation!" Shepard shouted, knowing the rest of the crew was listening in. "The enemy ship has taken a beating, but they can't take a hint. They think we need a miracle to get out of this fight alive, so we'll kindly oblige! We're going to give them a miracle…in the form of three kilotons of _DI_VINE_ INTERVENTION!_"

Though she knew that he wouldn't see it behind her helmet, Ashley grinned. Motivating his crew against impossible odds was a skill he had honed into an art. It didn't hurt that she especially appreciated this joke, either.

After Virmire, Shepard had requisitioned for nukes, just in case. After the Battle of the Citadel, the Alliance came through. "Come with me to the cargo bay. Time to gift wrap the package."

Seeing the nods of agreement, Shepard could only bow his head in appreciation.

Stepping out of the lift, Liara's curiosity got the better of her. "How are we going to deliver the bombs?"

Shepard jerked his head over to the Mako. "With the most epic improvised weapon in history."

Ten minutes and several rolls of duct tape later, the bomb was ready. Tali even managed to rig a proximity sensor to the hull of the Mako. With luck, their timing would be good enough for the _Normandy_ to survive the blast.

"Joker! Depressurize the cargo bay. Liara, stand by to give the Mako a push." Turning to the rest of his team, he continued, "magnetize boots. Double-check suit seals."

"_Depressurizing cargo bay...stand by…opening cargo bay doors."_ As the ramp lowered, they were greeted with a sight both awe-inspiring and terrifying all in one.

Directly in front of them was the dreadnaught. Its flaming maw dominated their view, with Alchera's white glow giving the ship an ethereal glow. Most notably, unlike any other ship he'd seen, this one looked like it was built inside of a carved-out asteroid.

But it was completely, utterly silent, making it all the more surreal.

Pulling his eyes away from the view, he nudged Liara. "Ready?"

She nodded. "Tali, release the clamps," she said, her tone even and emotionless.

"Done."

The asari glowed as a dark blue-ish purple aura eveloped her body. With a smooth, practiced motion, she thrust her palm forward, and the Mako followed suit.

"Now, Joker!" the Commander yelled, a slight bit of desperation audible in his voice.

The docking bay closed as the _Normandy_ flipped away. After seeing Shepard hit the deck, the rest of the team followed suit just before the thrusters kicked into full.

The seconds ticked by excruciatingly slow. At any moment, the bombs would go off—and the _Normandy_ might be taken along with the dreadnaught.

He didn't think. He just waited, almost on the verge of laughing at the ridiculous situation when the entire ship shook violently. Sparks flew, but the ship remained intact.

"_Ship stabilized. No detected hull breaches on the Crew Deck or cargo bay. Engineering, report damages to Pressley. Oh, and Commander, I think we've reached a new level of crazy. I'm pretty sure molten lava and sulfur would be a cakewalk right about now."_

Grunting, but smiling all the same, he launched a witty retort of his own. "You know me, Joker. I don't like to disappoint. Shepard out."

**A/N: Well, what did you think? Like it? Please let me know!**


	2. Damn Proud

**A/N:** Well, the first chapter got a measley two reviews, despite hundreds of hits. To be expected, sure, but wasn't expected was that these two reviews were long, eloquent, and overwhelmingly positive. So I've decided to continue this story and make it my primary project. That just goes to show how much of a difference reviews make, especially when they are well-written.

**Thank you, and please don't forget to review. If you want the next chapter sooner, nothing motivates me like a good, long review. I'm serious, you wouldn't be seeing this chapter at all if it weren't for those two awesome ones from chapter 1.**

* * *

**Chapter 2: Damn Proud**

It was close, even with all of their luck and skill; rescue showed up only after oxygen levels where getting dangerously low. Still, Shepard counted himself extremely lucky that the crippled _Normandy_ hadn't been attacked while knee-deep in the Terminus systems.

Three "wolf pack" flotillas, each consisting of a cruiser and several escorting frigates, arrived in system and hailed the bridge, where Shepard stood, waiting.

"_SSV Normandy, SSV Tokyo: we caught your distress call. Please respond."_

"This is _Normandy_ Actual; my ship is heavily damaged and leaking atmosphere. Requesting immediate support."

"_Roger that, _Normandy._ We're moving in to assist. Stand by."_

* * *

Docking and evacuation of the crew went uneventfully. Though he had a difficult time convincing Joker to leave the helm, reassuring him that the ship would be repaired did the trick.

Stepping aboard the _Tokyo_ was an odd experience; he hadn't been on another Alliance vessel or Alliance station since just before Eden Prime. _Hell_, he figured, _being on any ship that isn't mine is a bit strange these days._ Pushing the odd feelings aside, Shepard moved to greet the captain standing at the airlock. He wore a standard Alliance Navy uniform, though the cap was absent. Short, black hair and dark skin weren't much of an indicator of race or nationality these days, but the sharp, brown eyes bore the sings of a competent leader. "Thanks for the rescue, Captain," Shepard said, adding a salute for protocol and respect.

Returning the gesture, the man introduced himself. "The honor is mine to assist you, Commander. I'm Captain Rodriguez, and welcome aboard the _Tokyo_. I'll walk you to the CIC for a debriefing."

Nodding in assent, they made their way to the nerve center of the ship. He had forgotten how much larger cruisers were in comparison to frigates; the walk took a few minutes. Following Rodriguez's lead, he said nothing, making the situation all the more uncomfortable. Despite knowing that he had done nothing wrong, and that none of his crew had suffered serious injuries, he felt like he was a child again, being escorted to his parents to be scolded for unsupervised shooting at the ship's target range _again_.

Entering the CIC, Shepard was once again struck by a sense of unfamiliarity. He had grown used to the turian's influence on the CIC on the _Normandy_, forgetting about the significant differences in ship design between the two species. Were it not for the jarring shift in what should have been a welcome sight, he would have appreciated seeing a CIC with good layout.

"We'll be at the relay shortly, Captain." Shepard shook himself from his thoughts to see a young ensign snap a salute along with the report. "The _Austin_ and _Tel Aviv_ battle groups are proceeding with salvage and patrol operations."

Rodriguez acknowledged her with a salute of his own before turning to Shepard. "We noticed a lot of debris and radiation out there, Commander. Our scans of your ship show damage unlike anything I've ever seen, and definitely something a mass driver would never do. The distress call also mentioned a hostile _dreadnaught_ of an unknown type or affiliation. How you managed to destroy it with a damaged frigate is something I can't understand. I was hoping you could fill in the details. From what I already know, it must be a hell of a story."

Despite the stress and embarrassment plaguing him, Shepard couldn't help but smile. "Just another one to add to the pile, sir. Well, short version? We were ambushed, we took damage, we fought back, but at the end of the engagement, both ships were severely damaged, though we had the short end of the stick. So, we nuked 'em.

"Long version? We were attacked seconds after jumping in-system and engaging stealth systems. The hostile ship was apparently capable of detecting us through our stealth systems, as it quickly plotted an intercept course. Joker init—erm, Lieutenant Moreau initiated evasive maneuvers into the nearby Alchera's atmosphere. In the process, the _Normandy_ was hit by some sort of laser, sheering off most of the dorsal hull plating. Due to the damage sustained, we suspect we were hit somewhere else, too. Rapid atmospheric re-entry further damaged the ship, but she held together. After taking stock of the situation and damage reports, I ordered the crew, save for the bridge personnel, into the lower decks and ordered an attack on the enemy ship.

"We engaged at point-blank with JAVELIN torpedoes, our spinal cannon, and ECM for defense. We severely damaged the enemy ship, but we lost nearly all of our fuel in the process. With no more JAVELIN's, the only remaining weapons that could significantly damage the enemy vessel were the three SHRIKE nukes stowed onboard. We stuffed them into our M35 Mako, strapped a proximity sensor onto the hull of the vehicle, and shoved it out of the cargo bay at the pursuing dreadnaught. We used the last of our fuel to get clear of the blast.

"I got a personal visual of the enemy dreadnaught. It was larger than anything the Alliance has, though smaller than the _Ascension_. Its appearance was incredibly strange, though. It looked like it was stuffed inside a carved-out asteroid."

Captain Rodriguez stared at Shepard in disbelief. To his credit, his mouth was only open slightly, and his eyebrows only raised a fraction. "Does anything _normal_ ever happen around you, Commander?"

Shepard chuckled at that. "I've been asking myself the same thing for quite a while, sir. It's as if someone is having fun at my expense."

"Well, I'm sure the brass will love hearing about _this_ one." He sighed, shaking his head, as if trying to wrap his mind around the lunacy of the whole situation. "The rest of your crew is down by the mess, being treated for minor injuries. Follow me to the COM room; we'll notify Command about the situation. I imagine the Council will want to hear about this, too."

"Yes, sir," he said, grinning slyly. "I imagine they will."

"I used to serve on this ship," Chief Engineer Adams commented, his gaze drifting around the mess hall. "Only the paint job has changed, at least in here. I would love to see Engineering again, though…"

Liara only half-listened to Adams as she absently sat next to Garrus and Tali. She'd received most of the story of the attack from the crew, but they seemed preoccupied on the implications of the engagement. A large dreadnaught of a completely unknown classification and affiliation, with weapons nothing like any known race in the galaxy possessed. If that weren't enough, they speculated, it was capable of detecting the _Normandy_ despite its stealth systems.

She, however, was in an even darker mood. For so long, the _Normandy_ had seemed like a completely safe shelter from all of the danger that they encountered. But now…she believed the crew didn't realize how close it had been. They had very nearly been killed entirely. The thought of it disturbed her to the core. Would it always be like this?

A hand on her shoulder brought her out of her musings. Looking over to its source, she spotted Ashley smiling slightly at her. "He's fine," she said, correctly guessing where her thoughts were. "You're fine. The whole crew is fine. Hell, even the _Normandy_ will survive. This time, they caught us completely by surprise. That won't happen again. Shepard and Pressley won't allow it. We'll be far more prepared if we have to face them again."

Liara finally managed a small smile. "Thank you, Ashley." In the recesses of her memory, a sentiment she now held to heart resurfaced. "He said that, no matter how strong we are, having friends to rely on helps us in ways we are often blind to." She paused, shifting her gaze to the ground. Despite all of her progress in breaking out of her shy shell, there were some things she doubted she would ever get over. "You have been a valuable friend to me. I am fortunate to have met you."

She managed to peek up after a few seconds, her curiosity overriding her shyness. She barely had time to react before she was swept up in a hug. "Same here, Liara. Same here."

* * *

The atmosphere in the _Tokyo's_ mess hall was a mix of somber quiet and relief. They had faced death like never before, and made it out relatively unscathed. Their ship was damaged, but not destroyed. And, as Pressley was quick to point out, they destroyed an enemy dreadnaught despite suffering major damage in a surprise attack—a lopsided comeback victory that the Alliance had never achieved in any battle in history. This was a public relations victory, he said, and a serious warning shot to whomever had attacked them.

Those statements, wrought with conviction and even a slight (though somewhat uncharacteristic) smile had raised the crew's spirits significantly. Pressley even congradulated Tali and Joker for saving all of their lives—even garnering a few laughs after adding "again" following a pause.

"Shepard, this call is unexpected. Is something wrong?" Councilor Tevos put enough concern into her voice that the Commander's shoulders slightly sagged, as if a weight had been removed.

Though he liked the salarian councilor best, the asari councilor came at a close second. She was frequently a mediating force between humanity and the turians—much to his appreciation.

"The _Normandy_ was attacked on a routine patrol in the Terminus," he said. "By a ship capable of detecting us despite our stealth systems. Scans—both visual and technological—indicate that it was a dreadnaught of unknown classification and affiliation. Its weapons were also advanced; its main weapon was a laser capable of making my ship's armor irrelevant. In terms of size, it was smaller than the _Ascension_ but larger than any dreadnaught the Alliance has. Stanger still, it looked like its hull was made partly from a carved out asteroid."

Tevos' expression did not hide her surprise, and her salarian counterpart's eyes were slighter wider than usual. Velarn's hard features were too difficult for Shepard to read.

"This news is very unsettling. Do you have sensor data?" said Councilor Raigut. Shepard couldn't tell if he was asking out of lack of confidence in the spectre's word or out of a desire to give their militaries something to work with.

"I do. The _Normandy_ won the engagement decisively, though she suffered serious damage. We're en route to Acturus at the moment."

Velarn finally spoke—Shepard wasn't surprised to find that the turian's voice automatically sparked feelings of annoyance. "Are we actually to believe," he said, his tone condescending as usual, "that a seriously damaged frigate managed to best an advanced dreadnaught, to the point where it was destroyed before it could withdraw?"

_Enough is enough_. "I'm beginning to wonder, Velarn, if you hate me on a personal level or if you're just racist." That comment caused an immediate silence from the Council. Tevos seemed to be shocked that he had the gall to actually say that to one of the most influential people in the galaxy. And his boss.

He continued before the stunned councilors had a chance to recover. "I'll want an apology the next time we speak, or you can expect me to be less than civil. Until you're ready to act like a mature adult, Velarn, you can wait for a detailed report about how my crew—human and non-human alike—were badass enough to beat the odds. Again." He hit the disconnect button, to drive the point home. He turned around to see Rodriguez stare at him in shock for several moments before chuckling.

"I have to admit, I doubt anyone has the balls to call a Councilor immature and racist—let alone get away with it. You sure that wasn't a mistake?"

"I saved their lives because I was right when they were horribly wrong. That, and I'm a big goddamn hero now, apparently."

"You've been a 'big goddamn hero' since the Blitz, Shepard," the Captain pointed out with a smile. "Still, I wish I had a camera. The looks on their faces were _priceless_. I'm gonna have a heck of a story to spread around."

"You should have seen the time I disconnected the Council mid-conversation after a mission on Noveria. Wasn't funny at the time, seeing as Velarn accused me of enjoying genocide, but in hindsight…hilarious."

* * *

Liara waited for Shepard to arrive at the mess. She knew little of military protocol outside of the _Normandy's_ typical operations, even if she knew where to look.

She sighed, thinking about how he must feel right now. He had more on his shoulders than anyone should have had to bear, and this mess had not helped things in the slightest. How could she change that?

The Council didn't believe Shepard's report about the Reapers, and the Alliance was very skeptical as well. Shepard had managed, however, to get the Citadel government to prepare for war, by pointing out the potential threat the geth still presented. If they were capable of building a ship like Sovereign, as the Council believed, then the rest of the galaxy needed to prepare for a large-scale war. He had managed a major victory with that argument, and the compromise allowed him a reprieve ever since.

It was her job to remind him that the galaxy's fate did not rest solely on his shoulders as it did before the Battle of the Citadel. The attack on the _Normandy_ had not been his fault, and she would need to tell him that in a way that got past his guilt-complex. If Shepard had a major personality fault, it was that he cared _too_ much. His command style was highly informal; he treated the ground team like a family instead of like subordinates. It made failures, however slight or out of his control, seriously affect his mood until someone shook him out of it. Kaidan's death, in particular, had weighed on him heavily until Shepard's victory over Sovereign.

The door to the mess opened, causing Liara to jump. Shepard and the _Tokyo's_ captain walked in, smiling. The entire crew stood up at attention. The act initially surprised him, but it was quickly replace by an even wider grin. "At ease, everyone. Now, I'm sure you guys all know by now that I have a habit of making speeches."

The crew laughed—Rodriguez noted that the interaction between the _Normandy's_ crew was definitely less formal than Alliance standard.

"But this is an occasion that leaves many words to be said. We were attacked, caught off guard. Our snarky, crippled-badass of a pilot saved our asses throughout the fight—" he paused, allowing for some light cheers and applause. "—and our engineering team was vital to getting us out of that fight alive." More applause. "Tali had some fun strapping a few nukes into the Mako as a parting gift, so I expect you to all to buy her rolls of duct tape as memento presents for her next birthday." Laughs spread throughout the mess. "Lovell and Pressley did a good job of, you know, kicking the ass of a ship 15 times our size." Hollers and cheers went out in appreciation. Shepard took on a noticeably more serious tone. "And then there's the rest of you."

He started pacing up and down the front row, looking at each of his crewmen. "I know that some of the crew get all the glamorous action that the news vids love. But _I_ will never forget that you guys—_all of you_—have the nerves of steel that secure victory time and again. This crew has achieved the impossible, and we made it look easy. This crew has overcome great challenges, both personal and precarious, and succeeded every time."

They all looked at him now, proud and standing tall. He paused, looking for the words to say. "People call me a hero. They call me a lot of things. 'The man who brought down Saren Arterius,' they say. But that's bullshit. The difference between us and them, the difference between me and Saren, are the people in this room. That's why we won. That's why we'll continue to win. And I'm seriously goddamn proud of you. You're the best damn crew a captain could ask for."

No one said a word. There were no cheers or applause this time. But the sentiment was clearer than ever. Rodriguez could almost smell it.

"Now, with that out of the way, I'm hungry. Pressley, Lovell, and Tali, I'm assigning you to pantry-raiding duty. Johnson, your cooking expertise is needed. Garrus, you're on singing duty."

"Wait, wha—"

"And someone get some music going! Something spunky!" Shepard watched the crew get into motion, all smiles and some laughter. Liara was rooted on the spot, watching him as he walked over to her.

"You know, John, I'm beginning to wonder when we'll recruit someone who can actually sing," she teased. "Garrus works hard at everything he does, but I think you've finally stumped him." A small chuckle, and then a slow, tender kiss. Breaking apart slightly, they stared into each other's eyes, conveying all of the relief and admiration wordlessly.

"Do you think we'll have quarters all to ourselves tonight?" she asked, after several moments.

"I'm sure I can invoke my Spectre authority if there's trouble," he said. She couldn't tell whether or not he was joking. "Apparently, some random people gave me the authority to do whatever I want and get away with it. Useful, that."

The next kiss was far less innocent.

* * *

A/N: Steamy.

I figure lampshading Shepard's habit of making epic speeches is a no-brainer. In case you couldn't tell, Shep/Liara is the pairing for this story, but I absolutely will NOT bash any of the possible pairings, and I will try to avoid character bashing whenever possible. Councilor Velarn, on the other hand, deserves some snark.

**Thank you, and please don't forget to review. If you want the next chapter sooner, nothing motivates me like a good, long review. I'm serious, you wouldn't be seeing this chapter at all if it weren't for those two awesome ones from chapter 1.**


	3. A Way Forward

A/N: I'm trying to write longer chapters. Hope this is a step in the right direction. Also, if anyone knows a good beta for a story like this, please send me a PM ASAP. I'd really appreciate it. I think I'm going to need an editor.

* * *

**Chapter 3: A Way Forward**

"I'm just saying, you can't have a better poker face than Tali. You can't even _see_ it!" Engineer Jameson laid his hands out on the table, an expectant smile plastered over his features. His smile slowly faded as he realized that his commander didn't get the truthful joke…or just plain disagreed.

"All in."

All eyes at the table shifted to Shepard, who wore a creepy grin throughout the whole game. When Liara asked what the odd expression meant, he feigned taking insult at the lack of recognition for his "rape face."

Garrus eyed the pot longingly, took a glance at his hand, and threw his cards away with a tired sigh.

Tali glared at John, deciding whether or not to risk calling the possible bluff. But acting as crazy as he was, she had no way of knowing. If she stayed with this hand, she ran the risk of losing everything.

_That grin is REALLY creepy. _Shuddering, she reluctantly folded, crossing her arms and leaning her head downwards with a slight backward lean—the quarian equivalent of a pout.

His expression never faltering, John raked in the considerable sum.

"So? Was it a bluff or not?" she asked. He looked back at her for a moment, stopping his motions before resuming them a moment later. "Come on!"

"_Commander Shepard?"_ a voice called through the ship's COM. _"Report to the main COM room immediately. You've got an urgent call coming in from…the…oh. The Council. Uh, yeah, really urgent."_

Idly wondering why the COM officer sounded so flabbergasted, Shepard finally dropped his smile and turned to Garrus. "Compile it into a single chit, please? Gotta go. Duty calls."

"Wait!" Tali called at his retreating figure. "What was with the creepy face thing? And what was your hand?"

He almost looked bored—Liara guessed that it was his tired facial muscles rather than a lack of satisfaction. "A neutral expression is great and all, but nothing beats putting your opponents at a complete loss. Oh, and a pair of two's." With that, he left the mess hall.

* * *

Walking into the COM room, John couldn't help but feel apprehensive. Deserved or not, he might have crossed the line. And asking Velarn to apologize to a human subordinate was probably an exercise in futility.

He wasn't disappointed.

"Your conduct yesterday was extremely unprofessional, _Shepard_." The spectre almost admired how quickly the turian could drive him insane.

"_Your_ conduct towards me has been worse. I believe the word 'asshole' comes to mind." _Well, might as well go all in with this one…_ "But since Councilor Tevos and Councilor Raigut have been professional and understanding from the beginning, I won't disconnect you this time. Instead, I'm going to point out the _facts_. First, you've criticized almost every mission outcome since my instatement as a Spectre, even when I did absolutely nothing wrong. You've insulted me multiple times. And for the love of god, your tone has been so contemptuous that you don't even bother to hide it.

"But since you obviously aren't going to admit to any of that, I'd rather not waste any more time. I assume you want details on the attack on the _Normandy_?"

Grateful that Shepard had presented an opportunity to move on, Tevos stepped in to take advantage. "Yes. Your actions, from what we know, were commendable. But your initial report suggests that we are dealing with an unknown race possessing weapons superior to our own. Unsettling at the least, but we are hoping you could provide answers to any of the many questions we have."

He nodded. "It was definitely unlike any ship I've ever seen before. And definitely nothing like Sovereign." The mention of the Reaper threatened to steer the conversation towards the heated topic, but John carefully sidestepped the issue. "Its hull appeared to be largely comprised of a carved out asteroid. Or at least it was added on to the hull. Its weapon was a powerful laser capable of slicing through the _Normandy's_ hull easily. It was, however, susceptible to ECM at close range."

Velarn chose that moment to speak up, though his tone was much more controlled than before. "I am still curious as to how you destroyed the enemy vessel despite taking damage first. We might be able to utilize whatever tactics you used in the future."

Recognizing the olive branch immediately, Shepard tried to maintain as neutral a tone as possible. "My best guess is that we got very lucky. We were in close orbit with a nearby planet, giving us an avenue of escape from the ambush. We sustained significant damage in the initial attack, so we were very lucky that the _Normandy_ held together through the chaotic and rapid reentry.

"The enemy vessel moved into extremely close orbit after that. I guess it thought there was no way we could have survived that maneuver and attack intact—it was probably looking for our wreckage. When we came up at them, full speed with ECM, they seemed to be taken by complete surprise. We expended our entire armament of JAVELIN torpedoes at point-blank range, taking out its weapons. We used an improvised nuclear device to finish it off."

Raigut nodded, his salarian mind obviously working at impressive speeds. "I'm sure your full report will cover all of the details, Commander. We will investigate this new threat immediately, though if they are located in the Terminus systems, we will have to be very discrete. In the meantime, I suggest you not announce the true nature of your attacker to the public—causing panic will not help the situation."

"Understood, Councilor."

Sensing an end to the conversation, he already began to relax. But Tevos had other plans, apparently.

"One more thing before you go, Commander. In case you have not yet heard, the Alliance Parliament just voted to appoint David Anderson as humanity's first representative on the Council." She offered a rare smile—something he found strange on her normally dead-serious face. "The next time we speak, he may be in on the conversation."

Finding the idea extremely pleasant, John offered a genuine smile of his own, despite his protesting muscles. "I'm looking forward to that. Thank you, Councilors."

* * *

Stepping into Arcturus Station was like being hit with a wave of nostalgia. He hadn't grown up here by any means, but he and his family visited this place many times over the course of his childhood.

The crew had leave, but John had to report to the Admirals for a debriefing in a few hours. He grimaced at the thought. As great as the story was, telling it over and over was annoying.

Still, he was determined to make the most of his time here. He'd started the effort back on the _Tokyo_, arranging for a much-needed reunion.

All he could do was smile at Ashley's utter shock as her family performed something between an excessive tackle and a spirited hug.

As sweet at the moment was—he even snapped a holo for Ash's sake—he had a reunion of his own to attend. Despite the desire to spend some time with just his family, he definitely wanted to bring Liara along.

After all, it would be _so_ much fun to introduce her to their antics.

* * *

The Apollo was a relatively high-end restaurant for a space station outside of the Citadel. Photos chronicling humanity's ascension to the stars—with a heavy focus on the Apollo program, true to name—adorned the walls. It had a homey feel, as if it didn't take itself too seriously.

Those were some of the reasons why he loved it here, and why he was repeating a long-standing family tradition.

He saw them rather quickly; despite his parents lacking features that stood out in a crowd, he knew exactly what to look for, from familiar movements to table size. They were facing away from the door—the playful, mischievous side of him quickly tried to come up with a way to capitalize on the potential. But seeing as he hadn't met with his parents in nearly a year, his patience wasn't nearly good enough for a prank.

"It just occurred to me," he said to their backs. They immediately stiffened, but made no sudden movements. "If people catch me eating in a place like this, they'll think I'm taking a break from kicking five kinds of ass across the galaxy. Oh, wait. I _am_." Sliding into one of the empty seats, he smiled at his parents' controlled smirks. Liara hadn't yet followed his lead, looking on in apprehension.

"Life of a hero not what you expected?" his mom commented, a glint clearly visible in her hazel eyes.

"A _hero_ saves the day against the odds. _I_ encounter the most insane, unbelievable shenanigans so often that I'm probably the only damn Alliance marine who could see a naked asari commando clone be spit out of a giant plant and not hesitate to shoot her in the head before she breaks me in half with her biotics. While fighting off zombies."

"Sounds like a story."

"A simple, easy mission for me involves a trap in the form of a nuke set by the mastermind of the Blitz. That one, at least, was something that could go on the news. 'Commander Shepard saves colonists from zombie creating, mind controlling, 100,000 year old plant' was not. The fact that taking out several platoons of geth isn't even worth mentioning is rather telling, I think."

"Greatest story never told?" John's father finally asked.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Neil Shepard's smile grew. "If you thought the Blitz was bad?"

"Indeed. Welcome to my world."

Hannah shook her head in exasperation, but her grin gave her amusement away. "Why doesn't that ever get old for you two?"

He took a moment to glance at Liara, who remained standing behind his parents, her mouth slightly agape. Not even bothering to hold in his laughter, he cued his parents to her presence.

"My, John," his mother commented mischievously, "I didn't expect you to bring home a woman after a year like this. Then again, after a year like this, should I be surprised?"

Liara, acting slightly flustered at being the center of attention, composed herself.

"Mom, Dad," John began, gesturing towards the asari, "I'd like you to meet Dr. Liara T'Soni. Liara, my parents, Hannah and Neil."

Completely at a loss of how to properly behave, Liara fell back on the familiar. "It is an honor to meet you," she said, though she couldn't bring herself to smile through the nervousness.

"Please, take a seat," Hannah offered. Liara complied without a word, but didn't meet anyone's eye.

"She and I are actually…erm, romantically involved," John explained. As he predicted, their eyebrows rose in surprise—though he wanted to wipe the smirks right off their faces. _Parents,_ he mentally spat in annoyance.

"_Really?"_ Niel teased in a way that made his son cringe. "Oh, this is going to be _fun_."

_Dear god, what have I gotten myself into?_ John asked himself. His snarky side had no answer.

Even his mother was in on it. Seeing his "hurt" expression, she smirk grew. "We've waited 29 years for this, honey. You're long overdue."

* * *

Shepard felt an immediate appreciation for the layout of the meeting location with the Admiralty Board—no raised dais or giant hall like at the Council Chambers, just a simple table and a chair facing opposite.

He recognized most of the admirals present, though there was a woman sitting in the middle of the table, wearing the uniform of a politician or diplomat.

"Commander, thank you for your time." The deep, rough voice of Admiral Steven Hackett began the meeting in earnest. Knowing the man's exploits and reputation, John had immense respect for him. "I know you are probably expecting this meeting to cover the attack on your vessel, but the details in your report make that unnecessary."

The spectre immediately lowered an eyebrow in confusion, but he immediately went from bored to excited. Sometimes, he mused, surprises were welcome.

Hackett continued a moment later. "Your actions in the past year have been nothing short of remarkable. You've done more for humanity than anyone else in this room. Furthermore, you have the respect and attention of everyone in Citadel space. Even the Council owes you their lives."

Pausing to let his words sink in, Hackett fixed Shepard with a steady gaze. "Which is why we have a unique opportunity. The galaxy was relatively stable for centuries, until the Battle of the Citadel. An enemy attacked us right at our throne, and nearly won. They'll be more open to the right kinds of change than ever before—and they trust you more than anyone."

John finally understood where this was going. He couldn't say he wasn't excited at the prospect, but it also left him apprehensive.

Hackett's already haggard expression became even more somber. "The Battle of the Citadel may have brought us some huge political gains, but it's revealed a new problem entirely. Public opinion of the Council and other races are lower than they've been since 2164. Political commentators are having a field day that humanity saved the galaxy and made the Council races look horrendously incompetent. Maybe this kind of sentiment existed before, but humanity having to save the day was a catalyst that unleashed a flood."

"We want you to be a proponent for changes to the way things are handled on a galactic level," said the mystery woman. "You have shown yourself to be very persuasive and trustworthy. The biggest hero humanity has got. If anyone can prevent this public outcry and resentment from developing into a diplomatic nightmare that lasts for decades, it's you. So we're open to any suggestion you might have regarding diplomacy, politics, or the military."

"I'm sorry, but I don't believe we've been introduced," he said. The surprised looks on all of their faces confused him further.

The woman was the quickest to get over whatever faux pas he had committed. "Of course. With the year you've had, this should have been expected. I'm Joanna Black, somewhat recently elected Alliance Prime Minister."

_Oh. _"Well, at least I know you're serious about this whole thing, then."

The light-skinned, brown haired politician twitched her lips upward. "You thought we brought you here to a meeting with the top admirals in the Alliance and its Prime Minister to joke?"

"Far, far stranger things have happened to me, ma'am."

She eyed him with an odd level of concentration for several moments before continuing. "So, down to business. We're asking you to interact with the media heavily, and do whatever else you think best to make the goals recorded here a reality. If you accept, you will have to keep in frequent contact with us in order to ensure that we don't accidentally run headlong into a political mess. What do you say?"

He stroked his chin with his hand, eyes absently looking up at the ceiling as he considered the offer. "On one condition."

It was clear to John immediately that she had been expecting this. "And that would be?"

"Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams and her family have been subject to unofficial discrimination by the Alliance ever since Shanxi. I don't care what you have to say; I know the facts and I've done my homework. I want her promoted to the rank that I recommend and a public apology to the Williams family."

Most of the admirals slightly squirmed in their seats, but Black showed nothing but surprise—she clearly had not been expecting something like this. John could only guess that it was news to her, as well. "I was unaware of this, but as she was your subordinate, I trust your judgment. A public apology would hardly help us politically, but…I see. It's a way to combat humanity's newfound resentment of aliens as well as improve relations with the turians. Interesting. Unless the admirals have any objections?" she questioned, letting her tone trail off as she looked at each side, seeing none. "Very well. And before we get into the details, let's get this out of the way: effective immediately, you are hereby promoted to the rank of Major."

Despite not being particularly surprised, Shepard could not help but feel a swell of pride. This was an accomplishment he yearned for far more than becoming a spectre.

"You defy typical rank traditions," explained Hackett. "You command a ship, but personally lead a ground team in every op. You're a spectre, and your accomplishments demonstrate exceptional command ability in both small-scale and large-scale engagements. Though you won't be expected to carry out the expected duties of a Major, we thought that your rank should reflect your standing with the Alliance military."

Stiffening instinctually, Shepard kept his gaze straight ahead. "Thank you, sirs, ma'am. It's an honor."

Hackett and the rest of the admirals nodded, but Black snorted. "All we did was file some paperwork; you saved the day time and again. I'd say we had the easy part. Your experience and accomplishments give your opinion a lot of weight," she added, bringing them all back to the main topic.

Seeing the opening presented, Shepard began with the advice he had wanted to convey ever since Elysium. "I want to start with the fleet deployments with regards to our colonies."

That got everyone's attention immediately. "Our current deployments are very well suited for defending against powerful attacks from an organized military," he explained." Following the First Contact War, such a deployment was very useful and effective. But now, raids from slavers and pirates are a far more credible threat. Our token garrisons get us nothing but a lot of dead colonists, ma'am. We need to station a true defense at each colony. Even a single frigate at every colony would dissuade or defend against nearly every attack we've suffered in the past."

"I'm going to have to disagree, Major," said Admiral Dugal. His German accent gave his voice a stern but wise tone. "The geth attacks clearly demonstrated that we need to have large fleets on standby, lest we be overrun by a swift invasion."

"With all due respect, Admiral, I was there at every single geth attack," Shepard countered. "And at the risk of sounding arrogant, I personally led the successful defense and counterattacks at every single one. The Battle of the Citadel was the _only_ battle in which I received any backup or reinforcements whatsoever. The Alliance has hundreds of ships, but only dozens of colonies. Keep a fleet or two at Arcturus, and position a few wolf packs at key relay junctions. Assign the rest for colonial defense and scouting."

Sensing that anger and frustration was starting to seep into his voice, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath so as not to become too emotional before continuing. "Elysium was nearly destroyed. Feros nearly wiped out. Eden Prime nearly nuked into oblivion. Terra Nova came close to being a scar on the planet's surface. I don't even need to bring up Mindoir." The regretful and subdued expressions on their faces steeled his resolve. He fixed each of the admirals with an intense glare, finally letting his anger get the better of him. "I'm _tired_ of being the only one who manages to prevent disaster. You wonder why colonists don't like the Alliance? It's because you leave their asses hanging in the wind every time someone attacks them."

The silence stretched on for several seconds, but no one moved a muscle. Finally, Black relaxed back into her seat. "Well, there's the reason why we designed this arrangement in the first place. I find the Comman—_Major's_ arguments sound. Objections?"

Dugal looked thoughtful for a moment. "More than dozens, Major. Regardless of our deployment strategy, we couldn't cover our colonies in the Terminus."

"I'm not asking you to," Shepard responded. "Those colonists go out there voluntarily to form colonies independent of the Alliance. We can't be held to blame if we don't provide protection."

"Then I have no objections. I just hope our trust in your judgment is not misplaced, Major."

"Good," the prime minister concluded. "Anything else, Major?"

Shepard smirked as he leaned forward, placing his hands on his thighs. "I'm just getting started, ma'am."

* * *

Faster than the human eye could blink, it viewed the news report by processing its raw data—a speed improvement of four minutes and six-point-five seconds, though at the cost of five-point-three-seven percent of its processing power.

The _Normandy_ had been attacked by a geth dreadnaught, but the human ship had fought back and won, against all odds.

_Analysis: Heretics unlikely to patrol area with a lone dreadnaught. Heretics also unlikely to possess a dreadnaught. _

_Conclusion: Heretic involvement unlikely. Classification of attacker as heretics likely a cover up._

_Remaining imperative: Identify true identity of attackers._

Setting aside that conclusion for the moment, it returned its focus to the second task.

_New data available: Shepard-Commander confirmed to be located at Arcturus Station._

_Chances of contact without inciting violence or misunderstanding: extremely unlikely._

_Resuming observation directive._

* * *

"An alliance with the quarians?" Dugal asked, obviously perplexed.

"Not in the typical sense," Shepard clarified. "The geth are a significant threat to the entire galaxy. And no one is more committed to fighting them than the quarians. They are also the foremost experts on the geth. I suggest joint weapons and defense development with them; we provide resources while they provide expertise and training. All will benefit, and we get a good relationship with a species that maintains the largest fleet in the galaxy."

"And what of the long term relationship?" Black inquired. "The Migrant Fleet has nothing in the way of goods or resources to offer to anyone. Expertise is their only commodity."

"That's all true," Shepard answered. "But we gain something that can't be bought: improving the image of humanity and the Alliance."

Black leaned forward, obviously interested. "How so?"

"Despite our actions at the Citadel, humanity is still seen as incredibly aggressive, ambitious, and, well, in the words of many, getting too powerful too quickly. It breeds mistrust. Giving to those who have nothing but are in desperate need of everything is an act that challenges that image. The quarians are an incredibly resourceful and resilient people. Give them the money and resources to develop technology to beat the geth, and they'll impress you. Give them raw material and parts to fix their extremely important but aging ships and they'll be eternally grateful. Loyalty is extremely important to them.

"Racism against quarians is common, even from the Council. No one has ever given them anything, and after the Eden Prime War, that isn't going to change. But they aren't beggars. Give them your trash and they'll make more use out of it than you could imagine."

The prime minister eyed him carefully. "You had a quarian in your crew and ground team. Are you certain that she hasn't made you biased in this matter?"

John slumped, looking down in thought. For nearly a minute, he forced himself to truly consider her question. His command style and personality meant that he was extremely loyal to his crew. But the facts were clear. "Honestly? I doubt anyone has a more informed perspective on this than I do."

"We'll take your suggestion into serious consideration," she said, though John had the impression that it wasn't a diplomatic way of brushing off his advice. "Anything else?" she repeated.

He wanted to bring up the Reapers, but without the Council's support or hard evidence, he wouldn't convince them. Worse, he'd undermine whatever gains he'd made at this meeting. But there was a way, he told himself. _There's always a way._ The guilty, spiteful part of his mind brought the image of Kaidan, alone and abandoned, but he squashed it immediately. _Sometimes there isn't,_ he was forced to admit. _But you can always try._ "We need to focus our naval weapons development on weapons that can completely bypass kinetic barriers. As we saw against Sovereign, mass accelerators were extremely ineffective. The _Normandy's_ recent engagement showed us the potential of these weapons, on both sides."

Hackett immediately spoke up. "I agree. I lost eight cruisers taking on that monster of a ship. We were hitting the damn thing with an entire fleet's worth of mass accelerators and it didn't make a lick of difference."

Shepard couldn't hold back a smile. True to his reputation, Hackett was a no-nonsense officer who never let circumstances get in the way of doing the right thing. The admiral may not have known it, but he'd had John's back once again.

Dugal shifted his gaze to his colleague. "Your suggestion would not be easy to implement, Major, but we will look into our options. Unless you have anything to add…?" He looked at Shepard expectantly, who shook his head. "Then I suggest we convene this meeting."

"Agreed," said Black. "We should call it a day. Everyone, thank you for your time. Dismissed."

* * *

A/N: Like it? Criticisms? **Don't forget that quality reviews are BY FAR the best way to get faster updates**-motivation is key for people to write for you guys on their spare time. Your reviews are like the paycheck for a job, in a sense. Seeing what you guys think-good or bad-is what motivates me to continue doing this.


	4. Revolting Revelations

**Chapter 4: Revolting Revelations**

It took over 20 minutes to make it back to his quarters. Unlike the Citadel, Arcturus had no massive shuttle system; instead, public trams were used to cover long distances. The station simply wasn't large enough for anything else to be necessary.

Opening the door, he found that Liara had unpacked their possessions. Despite being immaculately organized, the room had a homey, familiar feel to it.

She wasn't there, however. Checking the chrono by the bed, he realized that it was only 2100. _Wish I felt like it was that early…_

He glanced over to the desk, seeing a data pad placed uncharacteristically haphazardly. Activating its screen, he saw that Liara had left a message for him.

_Ash is dragging me off to a club or something. Shesbarely giving me time to write thi_

John actually laughed: not only were there typos, but he was sure that Ash had yanked Liara away as she was typing the message.

Liara hated clubs. But for Ash, she'd most definitely make an exception, and so would he.

However, Arcturus had no clubs, at least not in the traditional sense. Besides, Ash would want to spend time with her family in places where they could actually hear each other.

That narrowed it down to a few places within reasonable civilian walking distance. He'd have to check them all, but first, he had to change.

* * *

"I swear, if I ever have to ride in that thing again, it will be too soon." Garrus downed another glass of water—Arcturus rarely saw turian visitors, so dextro-based food was rare.

Their location of choice was something of a cross between a bar and a restaurant. Pool and poker tables were scattered around the room, with dinner tables mixed in between.

"Is it really that bad?" Hannah asked. Having never been a passenger in the Mako, she had no way to relate.

Garrus leaned forward, hands on the table. "_Dear Spirits, YES._ I doubt you'd find a rougher ride in the entire damn galaxy. It's like he _enjoys_ driving off cliffs at full speed!"

Neil couldn't hold his laughter in any more, and bowled over.

"It's not funny!" the turian protested. "_You_ try riding with Shepard! I guarantee you'll be too busy screaming for your life to laugh!" To his dismay, the human only laughed even harder.

Hannah rolled her eyes at her husband's antics, though the small, barely concealed smile showed a loving appreciation for them.

"Honey," she started. When he didn't respond, she whacked him in the back of the head. "_Neil_, stop laughing. You're the one who sent messages of encouragement about his…_driving_." Almost immediately, his laughter intensified. "That's the point!" he managed.

"And here I thought it would be difficult to find you guys," said a voice from behind them. He took a seat at their table, leaning his elbows forward in interest. "And _what's_ this I'm hearing about my driving?"

"Oh," Garrus started, clearly ranting in his usual way. "Just how you take enjoyment out of nearly getting us killed with the Mako. _Sane_ people don't _laugh_ as they _drive off cliffs._ _Into lava._"

"I knew exactly what I was doing!" John defended. "And there's no problem with laughing at your utter terror. You'd think," he continued, shifting his gaze to his parents, "that he'd learn to trust me after the fifth time."

Garrus crossed his arms, clearly upset that he'd been beaten in a match of sarcastic wit.

A tap on John's shoulder indicated the presence of a particularly relieved asari. "I was wondering if you had gotten my message…though I suppose if the meeting went longer, it wouldn't have mattered…"

She took a seat behind him and began kneading his neck muscles. "How was it?"

"Well, I've got good news and bad news," he said. It was all he could do to stifle a chuckle.

The others leaned in, obviously interested.

"I get to be the Alliance poster boy for who-knows-how-long, running a one-man media blitz. But I'm not allowed to sucker-punch reporters or shove guns in their faces, which spoils all the fun."

"And the good news?" Hannah inquired. Instinctively knowing that Neil was starting another laughing fit, she kicked his shin to expedite John's answer.

Scanning the room, he saw his quarry. "Hey, Ash!" he called. While engaged with her family (and Tali, oddly enough), she heard his yell. Leaving the table with a look of mild confusion, she walked over to her CO. "Sir?"

"I'm gonna need a gargle blaster. Something that'll knock Liara off her feet. Put it on my tab," he instructed, barely managing to keep a straight face. He imagined that if he had seen Liara's beginnings of a protest, he wouldn't have been able to. "On the double, Operations Chief."

Ashley's face clearly indicated that she sorted through the perplexing order for a moment before her mind caught up with the last two words of his order. "S-sir?"

Still managing to keep his "command face" on, he chided her. "What part of 'on the double' do you not understand, Operations Chief?"

He enjoyed every moment of her being unable to process her shock, as she began sputtering an acknowledgement as she made her way to the bar—nearly stumbling over a chair in the process.

"Oh, you're _evil_," Garrus joked.

Liara, on the other hand, was less playful. "I don't drink!" she insisted. "At least, not like that!" Her protests left her increasingly more flustered. "I—you know what I mean! Stop laughing!"

All of the pent up humor had been released, causing him to mimic his father for a few moments. "Not even to celebrate Ashley's promotion?"

Regaining her composure, she crossed her arms and glared at him, though her smile ruined the image.

"Not even," he added, laying on the pressure, "to celebrate _my_ promotion?"

That got nothing more than an arched eyebrow—a gesture she had learned from him and grown fond of—and a slightly bigger smile.

"_Not even_," he said, putting all of his cards on the table, "probably getting Tali the best pilgrimage gift _ever_?"

Her glare lessened in intensity considerably, until it looked more like a gesture of amusement. "_Fine_," she conceded. "But _only_ because you're going to drink exactly what I am, double the amount."

He understood her condition immediately—she didn't want to be caught at such a huge disadvantage. But she should have known better. "Fine. I'll go get it set up." He left the table, reaching Ashley quickly.

"Hey," John began. "I need a favor, Ash." He ignored her oddly sentimental look. "I need you to get a drink order for me that looks like what Liara's getting, and is twice the size, but is actually a weak drink. Got all that?"

It took her a moment, but she nodded. "Good," he said, gripping her shoulder affectionately. "You never let me down."

Leaving her to her thoughts and task, he returned to his table. "Happy?" he asked the asari.

"Wait, wait, wait," Neil interrupted. "You got _promoted_?"

"Yeah," John answered with a shrug. "Strange, huh? I stole an Alliance ship from dock and got promoted for it."

"You mean you stole your _own_ ship _back_ from Udina," his mother clarified. "So, guess I'll have to call you Staff Commander, now, eh?"

"It's Major, actually," he said, unable to hold back a self-satisfied smirk.

"Oh, _well then_," she added, tone dripping with sarcasm. "I guess I'll have to be _saluting_ you from now on, won't we, Neil?"

"Oh, yeah," his father agreed, catching on. "I'll salute with one hand while holding up the baby holos with the other…"

John looked scandalized. "You _wouldn't_."

"I've _gotta_ see this," Garrus said.

"_Oh_?" Liara joined in. "I don't believe I've seen these holos before…"

Feeling his grip on the situation slipping—a very rare occurrence, he realized—he could only send a pleading look at his parents.

Hannah started exaggerated motions with a matching tone, obviously reenacting a childhood memory. "No, no, sweetie, I'm pretty sure you won't be lifting anything with biotics just because you're trying _really hard_."

John wanted to turn invisible. Or teleport somewhere else—_anywhere_ else. He'd rather fight off a platoon of geth than sit here and be humiliated in front of his friends and lover—all of whom looked extremely amused.

Garrus didn't hold back any laughter at all, his mandibles swinging animatedly. Liara wasn't quite so overt, but her look said it all.

"Or how about the time," Neil continued, "we caught him about to go swimming in the ship's water supply?"

"Couldn't even swim," Hannah said.

"Even if he could, it was a _tank_ of water. You'd just drown."

_Dear god, please let it end._ He wasn't a religious man by any means, but he prayed all the same.

"I'm sure Liara would _love_ to see the vid of you trying to sing _Love's Requiem_ by Green Rain," Hannah teased.

"You are," John said, summoning the last vestiges of composure he had left, "_amazingly_ embarrassing parents."

"Why thank you," Neil said, adding a mocking bow for good measure, "we do try _so_ hard."

Ashley arrived with the drinks, though she brought her family and Tali in tow. "Drink up, Skipper!"

Welcoming the interruption (and if he was really lucky, a change in topic), he took his drink and began downing it without preamble. _I might just order enough to make me pass out,_ he considered.

Liara stared at her drink as if it was poison. Seeing as it was green, he couldn't blame her. "You _did_ agree to this," he reminded.

Steeling her resolve (and ignoring the excited looks of everyone around her), she picked up the glass and took a sip.

In between gagging and coughing, she managed to find words. "This is revolting!"

"A deal's a deal," John commented.

Fixing him with a withering glare, she downed half of the glass before setting it down in a coughing fit.

He and his mother managed to hold their laughter out of respect and fondness for the woman, but no one else felt like doing the same. To Liara's credit, she didn't seem phased by the situation; John was incredibly proud of her for that.

She took the glass of water he offered gladly, drinking it in the hopes of easing the taste. He'd never been much of a drinker himself, but she hadn't drunk anything but wine (or its equivalent) in her lifetime, and never in excess.

He wondered if she was as excited about the prospect as he was. Given how determined she seemed, he guessed 'yes.'

It was going to be an interesting night.

* * *

Some would call it cruel that he was recording the whole thing. He defended himself by saying he wouldn't pass it around. It would stay a private memory, he said.

"Or the best kind of blackmail," Garrus suggested.

"If you even consider that," Hannah warned, "you won't even be able to walk in public when I'm done."

"Wha…? Ev'rithin feels…_strange_…" Liara slurred. She was staring at her hand, flexing her fingers. "I don' get it…"

Ashley put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, honey, you'll get used to it eventually."

"No!" the asari protested. "You don' _ged it…_s'all…_strange_."

Tali shook her head at her friend. "I never thought I'd say it, but I'm glad you guys never tried to talk me into drinking. Keelah, what a fool of myself I would have made…"

"Just be sure not to tease her about this for a while," John said in an unusually serious tone. "I don't want her regressing."

Knowing how seriously Liara could be affected, they agreed without hesitation.

The asari's eyes suddenly widened in realization, and she paused her near-constant movement. "I've gotta _pee_."

"I feel terrible, now," Hannah said ruefully, "for letting this happen."

"Eat, drink, and be merry," Neil commented rather seriously, "for tomorrow we feel like assholes."

* * *

_Prime Minister Black's Office, Same Time_

At only 35 years old, the Alliance government was very young, even by human standards.

But for matters outside of Earth, it was the most powerful human government in existence and one of the most powerful governments in the galaxy.

Her office wasn't overly special—something Joanna actually took pride in—but it did contain one awe-inspiring feature: a large, panoramic window overlooking the Arcturus Fleet. It never failed to remind her of the weight of her decisions, many of which impacted billions of lives.

This one was no different.

"Are you certain?" she asked, her voice little more than a whisper. The implications of the reports were staggering. As soon as the Alliance realized the alien dreadnaught was something never seen before, they established the largest fleet in the Terminus systems to protect their science teams.

"We cross-referenced genetic studies of the specimens with Prothean findings. It's too close of a resemblance to be a coincidence," Dr. Samesh Gavaskar answered. Dressed in a lab coat and accompanied by several other experts, his words demanded respect. Several Alliance admirals were also present, listening to the briefing.

Joanna stood to face the window, crossing her hands behind her back. She would undoubtedly inform the Council and Citadel Embassies, but there were two options before her.

Making this information public would uproot millennia of deeply-held beliefs about their supposedly benevolent precursors. It would undoubtedly cause panic in some areas. The galactic economy would take a hit, save for military industries. Between the reemergence of the geth and the attack on the Citadel, people would feel terrified. _That might not be a bad thing,_ she realized.

Keeping it secret would keep the galactic community and economy stable, as if nothing had happened. But some bombshells needed to be dropped.

"There's…more," Gavaskar said, hesitantly. "While analysis of weapons and technology is ongoing, it appears that the ship had a purpose unlike any other."

Joanna turned back to face him, her expression just as fatigued as everyone else in the room.

"The ship contained millions of pods, designed for holding organic life forms in stasis. For what reason, I have no idea. But it's clear that this race does not have peaceful intentions of any kind."

"And what race are we dealing with, exactly?" she asked. "You're telling me they're Protheans, but I'm sensing an addendum."

"They're Collectors," Gavaskar clarified. "But that's just the tip of the iceburg. The specimens we found were largely cybernetic, and, from what we can tell, somewhat mindless. Our best guess is that they're drones, being controlled by a queen of some kind."

"Like the Rachni," she said.

"Exactly. But still, even the Rachni males were intelligent—the adult males didn't even need any direction from a queen to act like a sapient creature."

"What else?"

"What we know about the Collectors only makes this even more confusing. They have the ability to manipulate at least one mass relay—the Omega 4—and they're known for exchanging advanced technology for odd combinations of organic specimens. Biotic batarians, human twins, etcetera. Either they're trying to design a bioweapon more effective than any in history, or they're trying to learn something about our genetics."

Her eyes shifted to the carpet, unfocused, as she stroked her chin. Joanna mulled over the possibilities of what all of this information meant. "So why attack the _Normandy_? And why have a ship clearly designed to transport millions of organic prisoners? What caused them to change their behavior so radically?"

Hackett spoke up. "I think we need to hold off consideration of making this information public until we find out what we're dealing with. And for that, we need the Council's help."

Dugal turned his head at his colleague questioningly. "Spectres? They report directly to the Council. We'd never get the full story."

"We will now," Hackett responded. "Anderson's a former Captain himself. No way he'll keep us in the dark."

"True," Dugal conceded. "But what about Shepard? His ship's under repair, and he's doing a media blitz."

"He's unavailable for an investigation," Joanna agreed. "But I want his opinion on all this, regardless. He knows more about the Protheans than anyone else alive."

"I'm not so sure," Dugal contradicted. "Those Prothean beacons may have clouded his judgment regarding them. You heard what he said, that "Reaper" myth. You bring him into this, and the next thing you know, he'll be racing off to the Council to argue about conspiracy theories. He's an excellent soldier, but—"

"Anderson believes him," Hackett interrupted, his tone slightly hostile. "And he's humanity's Councilor. A former Captain, and an N7. I know both of them, and if they believe it, then so do I. Not to mention that Shepard's crew believe him, too."

"Shepard's ability to inspire steadfast loyalty in his followers, Anderson included, does not constitute evidence of this outlandish myth—"

"Enough, both of you," Joanna ordered. "I'm bringing him up here ASAP. I want his input, regardless of how valid it is. It might give us the inspiration to reconsider this info in a way that makes sense."

"You want us to wait here?" Dugal asked.

"You have a more important briefing to go to, Admiral?"

"Point taken, ma'am."

* * *

"…for tomorrow we feel like assholes."

Tali nodded her head in agreement, but Garrus looked entirely unashamed. Ashley took Liara to the bathroom, though her sisters stepped in to help once the difficulty of keeping Liara upright became apparent.

"She's gonna be pissed at you," Neil said. "I forsee a 'no sex for a week' in your future."

"What makes you think she'll be able to wait that long?" John retorted. Before he could continue, a sharp beeping noise emanated from his pocket. Fishing the cell out of his pants, he checked the message.

_From: Adm. Hackett_

_To: Mjr. Shepard_

_Priority: Extremely Urgent_

_Get up to the Minister's office ASAP. Don't worry about protocol. Respond to confirm receipt._

Noticing the confused look on her son's face, Hannah asked what the message was about.

"It's from Hackett," he replied. "He's telling me to get up to the Prime Minister's office ASAP."

"But you just met with her!" she protested.

Neil, on the other hand, looked calm and nonchalant. "Never a dull moment, huh?"

John stood up, hammering out a quick reply. "At least _he's_ learned by now. I'll see you guys later, gotta go."

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"So, what do you make of all this?" Joanna asked. While everyone in the room looked to him intently, Dugal's expression held a fair bit of skepticism.

"I know exactly what to make of this," John answered. "Well, most of it, anyway." Really, it was just a side note to him, but judging from the looks of his superiors, it was some gigantic, Earth-shattering mystery.

"And?" she asked.

"Well, I'd tell you," he prefaced, "but you probably wouldn't believe me, so I'm not sure if I should waste my time."

"I knew it," Dugal responded snidely. "It's this damn 'Reaper' myth again."

"Major," Joanna said, sending a short glare at the admiral before resuming her attention on the Spectre. "I'm not going to hold anything against you if you speak your mind. We've got a plethora of questions, and hardly any answers."

John took a moment to gage her intent before answering. "Yes, it's related to the Reapers. The Collectors are obviously agents for the Reapers. The extensive cybernetics and lack of any sentience or autonomy whatsoever puts them closer to husks than indoctrinated slaves."

"Indoctrination?" she questioned. John realized that the reports he sent to the Alliance about Virmire probably never went all the way up to the top. That, or Prime Minister Black was newly elected.

"Sovereign was capable of slowly and subtly brainwashing people in close proximity towards serving it without question. In essence, it's like reprogramming an organic mind. The more strongly indoctrinated someone is, the more mindless they become. Matriarch Benezia initially joined Saren to try and steer him back onto the right path, but she fell victim to indoctrination right along with him."

It took several moments for Joanna to process that information, but no one else spoke during the silence. "Okay. As you were saying?"

"Your intel says that the Collectors can manipulate the Omega 4 relay. They can manipulate relays because the Reapers _built_ them. They attacked the _Normandy_ because they wanted to kill the group that was directly responsible for the destruction of one of their kind. My guess is that they see me as a significant threat." He paused, looking at the floor idly with a small smile. "Good," he said, mostly to himself.

"What about the Prothean connection?" Joanna pressed.

"The Protheans were wiped out by the Reapers, which is why there is extremely little evidence of their people, while the relays and Citadel remain. It seems that some of the Protheans that were indoctrinated were turned into the Collectors. Tools."

"Think about what you're saying!" Dugal shouted. "Protheans being turned into these…_things_? If they're tools, then how are they being controlled, from where, and by whom?"

Shepard took his rant in stride. "By advanced technology utilizing the implants, unknown but not entirely relevant, and by the Reapers. Sovereign did something similar with Saren; it implanted him and then used the implants to control his corpse."

That shut the admiral up.

"And the pods? Why do they collect random samples of people, and why have a ship capable of transporting millions of them?

John stood up, slowly walking to the window. He considered the possibilities, but only speculation came up. "I don't know," he was finally forced to admit. "If they were trying to make a bioweapon, they would have used it already, instead of a riskier brute-force attack. And you wouldn't need millions of subjects to develop a bioweapon."

"True," said Dugal. "So that Collector ship is for something else entirely. But what could you possibly need millions of live specimens for?"

"Husks, maybe?" Shepard suggested. "I have no idea why you'd need millions of them ahead of time, but that's the only logical explanation I can think of."

"The husks were created by geth technology," Dugal insisted.

"That's what you assume," Shepard argued. "But since no one's conducted a successful scouting mission of geth space, I can't prove you wrong outright."

"He's not some crazed loon," Hackett said. "Hell, he sounds more convincing than _you_ do."

Dugal looked less tense than before. "I suppose you're right," he admitted. "I don't believe in this Reaper theory. But it's worth…consideration."

"If Shepard is right," Joanna surmised, "then the Collectors have to be limited in number. And the Omega 4 relay has to lead somewhere isolated, so that they aren't stumbled upon or reachable by other species."

"Agreed," Hackett said. John gave a nod as well.

"Then we need a way to follow them through the Omega 4," Dugal suggested. "We need to take the fight to them. Not to mention the intel and tech we could find."

"Then that's what we'll do," the Prime Minister concluded. "Meeting adjourned. Everyone, thank you for your time."

* * *

_Three Days Later_

"Come in."

Garrus entered Shepard's quarters with ease, long having grown comfortable around the Major. But still, John's request for this meeting had sounded unusually formal. "Shepard?"

"Take a seat, Garrus," the spectre said, gesturing to a nearby chair.

"What's this about, Major?" This felt like the meetings they'd had in the captain's quarters, where they went over the decisions made by each of them in a previous op. _What is he getting at?_

"One final lesson." Before Garrus could ask what he meant, the human continued. "Have you heard of the human expression, 'the ends justify the means'?"

He nodded. "Yes. The turians have a similar phrase. I think all species do."

Shepard looked at the floor, as if lost in thought. "A lot of people debate whether the ends justify the means, or if they don't—or to what degrees. I can't give you a definite answer. The galaxy isn't black and white."

That last statement cut right through his thick skin. One of the hardest lessons Garrus had to learn was that things were rarely that simple.

John shifted his now intense gaze to his friend's eyes. "But what I can tell you is this: the means used to achieve an end shape the end which results." He paused, continuing his look. Garrus resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably; he felt like he was being analyzed. "Remember that."

Garrus nodded sharply. "I will," he said, with no hint of hesitation.

After what seemed like another eternity, Shepard continued. "You're a damn fine warrior. You're determined, brave, and most importantly, compassionate. You know to do things the right way, not the easy way.

"Spectre candidates are evaluated by spectres over the course of several missions. Ultimately, the Council approves of their induction, but considering one of them already likes you, and the others know you're a hero—and a good friend of mine—I doubt they'll disagree with me here. So, how about it?"

It took several moments for Garrus' mind to catch up with his ears. "You…you're putting my name forward to be a Spectre candidate?"

His answer was only a smile, at first. "No, Garrus. I'm asking you if you want to _be_ a Spectre. If not, I completely understand, and when we get back into the fight, I'd love to have you at my side. But if you _do_ want to be one, then I need an answer."

"Just one question." The turian's features were unusually stoic, which Shepard took as a good sign.

"Yeah?"

"When you get back into the fight, will I get to be at your side, no matter what?"

John was heartened by those words; he couldn't ask for a stronger expression of friendship and loyalty. "If the Council has a problem with it, I'll tell 'em where to shove it."

"Then yes. If I get to watch."

A ghost of a smile played at the human's lips. "Just be sure to record it. It'd be a nice thing to show my kids one day. And yours."

* * *

_New York City, Earth – Two Weeks Later_

The R&R had been fantastic. After Saren, the geth, the Reapers…he'd forgotten what it was like to truly relax. Given all that he had recently accomplished, he actually let himself do so.

But it was time to get back to work. The _Normandy_ was under repair (and redesign, according to feedback and lessons learned). Until it finished, the rest of the crew were temporarily reassigned to various postings. Ashley was going to head her own Rapid Response Team in the Terminus, while Tali returned to the flotilla with an Alliance delegation in tow. Wrex had gone off to Tuchanka shortly after the Battle of the Citadel, and Spectre Agent Vakarian had been assigned to partner with another Spectre for the time being.

_Lucky them_, Shepard moped. Interacting with the media made him more nervous than facing a platoon of geth.

He wasn't kidding.

But today was day one, where he'd be meeting with a famous political commentator.

"I don't believe I have your full attention, Mr. Shepard."

John shook himself from his musings. In front of him stood the head of his security detail, Janine Walters. Her short black hair, tied into a small pony tail, and brown eyes didn't necessarily stand out at a glance, but the way she carried herself set her apart. "Sorry. You were saying something about…I forgot, actually."

Her expression became even stiffer, if possible. "Do you _want_ to die, Mr. Shepard?"

"Major," he corrected. "_Major_ Shepard. Normally I'm not a stickler about protocol, but calling me '_Mister'_ just feels all kinds of wrong."

"Fine, _Major_. My job is to ensure your safety. So I suggest you start giving a damn about that, because there are people out there who are crazy enough to try to kill you."

"You've got my attention," he said seriously.

"Good. Now, Earth is home to some extremist groups that won't take kindly to your tolerant, possibly pro-alien, views. Even if that wasn't the case, some assassins do what they do out of mental instability or fame. JFK, a famous American president, suffered that fate. I don't want a repeat of history here."

She leaned forward, continuing. "You do _not_ give us the slip. You do _not_ go _anywhere_ without consulting us first. You do _not_ disable or tamper with our surveillance devices, however much they violate your privacy. We're professionals, we're here to protect you. Keep that in mind."

"Imagine that," Liara half-joked, "_you_ needing protection."

"Yeah, someone might actually shoot at me. I'm trembling at the mere thought."

"This _isn't_ a laughing matter," Walters interrupted. "I don't give a damn if you're the most powerful person in the galaxy. At the end of the day, one lucky bullet, one poisoned drink, or one madman driving an aircar laden with explosives is all it takes."

John matched her seriousness. "Janine, I know that better than anybody. You can ask Saren's corpse, or the dead asari commando unit on Noveria if you don't believe me. Despite appearances, I know and appreciate what you're here for. Continue with the briefing."

"Actually," the man next to her said, "this is where I come in." Avery Gunnison was the communications expert, and acted like one. Sociable, friendly, but definitely to the point. "The man you're facing today is Clinton Eklund. He's a commentator with a viewership of a hundred million people per night. He'll be friendly, easy-going at first. Easy questions. But then he'll lay it on harder, trying to catch you off guard. He has a subtle but strong anti-alien bias. Be sure to keep in mind that he'll try to get you to say something wrong, something that comes out wrong. Then he'll attack that weak point mercilessly. So _think_ about what you're going to say before you say it."

John turned to his lover with a pleading expression. "Why couldn't it have been a platoon of geth?"

* * *

"We're live in five…four…three…two…"

"Good evening. I'm Clinton Eklund, and welcome to _Simple Sense_. Today, we've got a special treat: none other than Major Shepard, first human Spectre and Hero of Elysium." Eklund turned to face John, smiling. "It's an honor to have you here, John," he said, extending his hand in greeting.

"It's great to be here," John replied, shaking the offered hand.

With that out of the way, they settled in for the interview. "So, this your first time visiting Earth?"

_He wasn't kidding about starting with easy questions._ "No, I actually had basic training here. Didn't get to see much, though, so this is all new to me."

"I imagine it's a bit jarring, seeing what most of humanity calls home after spending your whole life traveling from one end of the galaxy to the other," Eklund replied, still smiling.

Feeling like he was missing something, John's enthusiasm wasn't nearly as genuine now. "It's certainly eye-opening, but having a life on the move is…an experience in itself."

"It must be great to finally see the true heart of humanity after all this time, right?"

That question set off mental alarms, but John didn't have the time to figure out what Eklund trying to do. "I don't think I understand what you're getting at." _There, blunt and to the point._

"A vast majority of humanity still lives on Earth," Eklund explained. "And this is where our history, our culture, our ships, and our people come from. You haven't forgotten that, have you?" The man's friendly expression and tone never faltered, contrasting with the scathing implications of his words.

Realization settled in Shepard's gut. _He's trying to paint me as out of touch with humanity._ "I have common sense, Clinton, and I attended school just like the rest of you. Though," he added, trying to fire back, "you're not entirely right. Quite a few Alliance personnel come from our colonies, or ships, like myself. Most of our resources come from mining operations outside of Sol. There's a whole galaxy out there," he continued, feeling like he was shooting in the right direction. "You haven't forgotten that, have you?"

Eklund's friendly demeanor failed for just a moment before sliding back into place. "Who could, after the shocking events at the Citadel a couple months ago?"

_Here we are at last. Right where he wants to be,_ Shepard concluded. "Indeed."

"The massive assault on the throne of the Council shook the very _foundations_ of galactic politics, did it not?"

Remembering Avery's advice, he took a moment to collect his thoughts before speaking. "I think it got everyone's attention. I think it caused people to reconsider beliefs taken for granted. But as far as wars go, the galaxy has suffered far worse."

"Ah, yes," Eklund responded. "The Rachni Wars, the Krogan Rebellions, the Geth Uprising…the Council has done a great job with preventing catastrophes that were right in front of their faces all along."

_Sarcasm, now?_ "I'd say they've done a decent job at the least."

"A _decent_ job?" the commentator mocked. Gone was the extremely calm, easy-going demeanor. "They let the krogan breed like mice, turn every world they inhabited into barren wastes, and then were surprised when the inherently violent krogan decided to take the rest by force! Or how about the Geth Uprising, where even your average human could tell that enslaving an army of AI machines wouldn't work out well! Was the Council _surprised_ when they decided to invade, starting with an attack on Eden Prime? Tell me, Shepard, what was their reaction to _that_ incident?"

Yep, he'd rather have faced a platoon of geth. _Alone_. It was easy enough defending his own actions and choices, like he'd been expected to do. But defending the Council? It would be difficult, if not impossible, since he had his own criticisms. "They made me a Spectre and sent me after Saren, their leader. They also put the STG on the task."

Eklund looked rather pleased. "So they sent _you_, _one man_, to take down their top Spectre, who was leading an armada of geth? Their response to an act of war by a race of genocidal AI was to send _one man_, and hope that the problem just went away?"

John paused for several moments, trying to come up with an answer. But Eklund took his silence as a sign of victory. "I thought so. They just did as little as possible and thought that the problem would take care of itself."

"No."

"No?" Eklund responded, still sounding too pleased with his 'gotcha' moment.

"No. The Council decided to send me to investigate. See what we were up against. Find targets to hit. Find out what Saren and the geth were after. Why they decided to move beyond the Perseus Veil for the first time in hundreds of years. Personally, I'm glad they didn't send the Citadel Fleet into the Veil and hope for the best." Now realizing that he was taking back ground, he pushed on. "See, in the military, that's what we call 'tactical suicide.' It's what happens when your knee-jerk reaction to an attack is to act with the patience and wisdom of a five-year-old."

"And that _patience_ and so-called _wisdom_ paid off, how? Oh yes, by the Citadel being overrun by geth, leaving humanity to save them from their own stupidity!"

_His_ knee-jerk reaction was to cite the presence of a Reaper making Eklund's point moot, but doing so would not help things. "The geth launched an all-out assault on the Citadel. They also used the Conduit, a back-door into the Citadel that the Protheans built secretly, which Saren used to capture the Citadel from the inside. I'll agree that the Citadel Fleet made some tactical blunders, but at the end of the day, the battle was a severe loss for the geth, and a victory for us."

"A severe loss for the geth?" Eklund repeated. "How would we know? The Council never sent any ships to scout the geth where they live, so how do we have any idea how many ships they have? No, the Citadel Fleet stayed put at their little throne, so they could get blown up when the war was taken to _them_."

Now that they were discussing fleet tactics, Shepard was far more at ease. "Clinton, as much as I respect your oratory ability, your tactical ability leaves much to be desired." Eklund looked like he'd been slapped. _Gotcha_. "The Citadel Fleet did what the Alliance fleets mainly do: stay on standby at strategic locations, and then attack in force when you have a real target to hit. Between the attacks on Eden Prime and the Citadel, the only colony actually attacked was Feros—and that colony was made up of less than a hundred people. Where would the Council have sent their fleet? Into enemy territory, blind?

"Your suggestions would have left the Citadel largely undefended. Worse, they might have resulted in the destruction of the Citadel Fleet in a trap."

And then, he let his anger show. "And those brave men and women who fought in the battle didn't _sit on their asses_ waiting to be _blown up_. Show some goddamn respect, Eklund, for the people who saved millions of lives at the Citadel, and maybe even saved your life, too. Soldiers with less self-control might have punched you in the face for that comment. I just happen to know that you're not worth it."

Eklund's face shifted from shock to indignity. "That's not what I said, Shepard, and you know it."

"Really?" John asked, now indignant himself. "All I've heard you say since we started this interview is disrespect and insults. The Council does a good job. They aren't always right, and sometimes they may even make stupid mistakes, but at the end of the day, they make this galaxy a much better place.

"You're sitting here on Earth, ranting about galatic politics and wars. You have every right to do that, but don't think for a second that you know everything, that you're some expert on it all. Because you're not. I've been all over this galaxy. I've fought geth in Prothean ruins. I've shouted at the Council in the Citadel Tower and the COM room of my ship. I've become good friends with a krogan battlemaster, a turian C-Sec agent, and a quarian engineer. The person I recommended for the human seat on the Council ended up getting it. I've been around, Eklund. Have you?"

Clinton looked _pissed_, but he wasn't out of the game yet. "You're a soldier, Shepard. You follow orders. Don't pretend that you know politics."

"Really?" John repeated. "Tell me, what do you know that I don't?"

The commentator was coming apart at the seams, and his true colors were showing. "I know not to give a _turian_ free reign aboard a prototype Alliance ship and a _quarian_ a job in the ship's engine room. I know you're pro-alien, but I wonder if you're really looking out for humanity's interests at all."

John sat back, relaxed. The juxtaposition between the furious, barely-contained Eklund and the nonchalant Shepard did not go unnoticed. "Your racism is noted, but not appreciated. That _turian_ is now a Spectre. He volunteered to help me go after Saren and the geth, without payment of any kind, and put his life on the line to protect yours. So did the quarian, who, by the way, has a name. Tali'Zorah nar Rayya, in case you're curious, which you're obviously not.

"I've been aboard starships most of my life. Please, don't tell me how to run _mine_." Clinton looked ready to burst, so John decided to hammer it home. "I'd like to think that a group of committed, selfless, and friendly people, whatever the species, can work towards a goal without suspicion of each other.

"And while we're at it, let's compare what each of us has done for humanity. I've helped save Elysium from slavers and pirates. I've become humanity's first Spectre. I helped save the colony of Feros, and destroyed Saren's base on Virmire. I brought down Saren Arterius and helped stop the geth invasion of the Citadel. And I'm told that I was instrumental in getting humanity a seat on the Council less than a year after becoming its first Spectre. How about you?"

Eklund gave Shepard a death glare. "Not everyone helps humanity by shooting at things."

"No," John agreed. "Some just spout uninformed rants about galactic politics in an attempt to paint nonhumans as stupid. I'm sure our trade agreements with the massive asari and turian economies benefit from that quite a bit."

Not satisfied with that zinger, he took advantage of Eklund's silence. "You know, I was so nervous about this interview that I told myself I'd rather face a platoon of geth. I wasn't kidding. It seems like I shouldn't have been worried, though. You thought you'd make me look bad by talking about military tactics, which, I'm sure you realize now, was a terrible tactical decision on your part." He offered his hand with a smile, making the juxtaposition plainly comical. "I'm not a Major for nothing, you know. Good game."

* * *

"And we're out," said the director.

Eklund stood up, not as contained as before. "One day your naivety is going to bite you and our species in the ass. I just hope you live to see it." Without another word, he turned around and left.

John left himself, finding Liara and Janine waiting for him. The former was smiling openly; the latter surprisingly had a tiny one herself. "You did well," Liara complimented. "Slightly arrogant, but not unreasonably so."

"Not to mention that it's going to be circulated across the globe," Avery said, walking around the corner. "I've never seen him worked up like that. Your performance wasn't perfect by any means, but I'd say you did extremely well for day one."

"I'd just like to point out," John said, "that my job description says absolutely nothing about TV interviews."

"I doubt it says anything about saving the galaxy, either," Liara joked.

"Well, actually—"

"John." _Shut up and read between the lines,_ he realized she was saying.

And _then_ he understood. "Oh. Right. Yeah, we're, uh, wasting time here. We should be heading back to the hotel." _Because my girlfriend wants to jump me,_ he tactfully left out.

As far as beginnings went, it was a hell of a lot better than the _Normandy's_ shakedown run.

* * *

**A/N:** Wow, that was a doozey. Sorry for the long wait, this chapter went through a LOOOOT of revisions.

Anyway, thanks for the reviews, guys. They are the reason this chapter is even out at all. Special thanks to yog, who pointed out that the salvage operations of the Collector vessel would reveal some interesting things. So that whole meeting in the PM's office, and the part where Shepard comes up, was added as a result. Yeah. Half the chapter.

**Please review! Nothing motivates me to write more and faster than a good, lengthy review.** They are the only reason this story went past the first chapter, too.


	5. The Message

**Chapter 5: The Message**

_From: PM Black_

_To: Mjr. Shepard_

_Priority: Urgent_

_Encryption Level: Crimson_

_We found husks in the wreckage of the ship you downed. Given the lack of Dragon's Teeth and geth, I see where all the evidence is pointing. When the only other possible explanation—an alliance between the Collectors and geth—seems unlikely, and the dismissal of a bioweapon as the main Collector motive, I am forced to conclude one thing._

_The probability of you being right is far, far too high for us not to act as if you aren't. Still, I want to be absolutely sure about this before I fully commit. We're working on that end._

* * *

_From: Op. Chief Ashley Williams_

_To: Mjr. Shepard_

_Priority: Low_

_Encryption Level: Yellow_

_Hey, Skipper. James—one of my troops, someone who used to serve under me, actually—showed me a vid of you all over the media on Earth._

_Ouch—I'm pretty sure you'd rather be out here than in the spotlight like that. Seems like I got the easy job, eh?_

_Speaking of which, things have been…weird around here. I…I'm not sure how to word this. Basically, people treat me differently here. Or maybe it has nothing to do with the location? Dunno. Either way, people don't look at me and see me as General Williams' granddaughter. They see…_me_. Sorry, didn't mean to get all corny-sappy on you, but I'm pretty sure you were the one behind the public apology to my family. So…thanks. You've had my back against, well, everything, since Eden Prime. I couldn't ask for a better CO…and a better friend._

_Being in command, after the hunt for Saren and everything…it's different. I've tried using your style, and it usually works (though my people skills are not nearly as good, I think I've come across as odd/weird a few times). But it also leaves me worried. I feel close to my team in a way unlike anything I've ever experienced (outside of the _Normandy_, of course), but what happens if I lose one of them? If I have to choose who dies? I felt like I could make the right decision before, but now? I just don't know. I don't know how you do it. Virmire keeps coming up…I know how hard you took Kaidan's death._

_I gotta admit, taking on pirates and slavers is great work. Compared to geth, krogan, _[[REDACTED]]_, and asari commandos, it's like a vacation. _

_I'm sure your media frenzy doesn't have the same feel to it. But all that time with Liara, though? You know, she's not much of a "kiss and tell" type, but…well, my lips are sealed. _

* * *

_From: Mjr. Shepard_

_To: Op. Chief Ashley Williams_

_Priority: Low_

_Encryption Level: Yellow_

_It's crazy out here—some good days and bad. And yes, I would much rather be in your place than mine. Thinking about it takes me back to my N4 days, taking out pirates and slavers like it was going out of style._

_Considering what's on my plate right now, I guess it kind of was._

_Some of the media people I talk to are quite friendly—not as many xenophobes as you might think, too. Selling the "alliance" with the quarians has been tough, but sticking to the talking points just makes me sound like a broken record. A _convincing_ broken record, though. Thankfully, it might be almost over. _

_People are treating you like your own person? About damn time. You've more than earned it (well, really, no one should ever have to earn that, but you get what I mean). _

_I read your file after Eden Prime—you're a good CO with some truly unique experience under your belt. Yeah, compared to geth and krogan, slavers are small-time. Just remember that all it takes is one lucky guy in a spot you missed to kill you and your squad. Our biggest advantages have always been our teamwork, coordination, and training—the moment you get cocky, you're extremely vulnerable._

_Getting close to your team is a double-edged blade. Sure, it hurts much more when you lose them. But ultimately, I think it's worth it. I doubt we'd have stopped Saren if we were anything less._

_Word of advice, though: when you have to choose who dies, or something along those lines, it helps to force the relationships and identities out of your mind—just focus on the facts, the situation, and the numbers. Find the logical choice, and stick with it. _

_Liara? Yeah, remember when I said no asking about her sex life? Consider that a standing order._

* * *

"You took on a _Colossus_ head on?" The young quarian—no more than 15, Tali guessed, looked upon her with wonder.

As did the seven other children. And seventeen adults, most of whom were Migrant Fleet Marines.

"No," Tali clarified. She didn't want them to think she was a miracle-worker, or anything. "We made a dash for a flanking route, behind some large equipment. The geth had to follow us though some choke points, and we managed to take them out in more manageable numbers before ganging up on the Colossus. But still," she added, her own voice matching the girl's in tone, "Shepard ran right at the thing, hands empty."

Her crowd was obviously hanging on every word—stories, especially from pilgrimages, were frequently shared as a matter of tradition and socializing. "He got so close that its kinetic barriers couldn't stop him as he blasted the thing's innards with a shotgun." The marines didn't even hide their awe. "He's fearless—and crazy, in the best kind of way. Half of his strategies seem stupid or insane, but they work so well, you're still left wondering how you're still _alive_, let alone repeatedly victorious."

"Crazy bastard," one of the marines muttered.

"You think _that's_ crazy?" Tali teased. "I ought to tell you about the time he killed a thresher maw, even after our vehicle was flipped a hundred feet in the air by the monster…"

* * *

They had analyzed the situation with concern.

But, like all significant decisions, this one required consensus.

The conditional alliance between humanity and the quarians was very worrysome. Together, they had the strength to cripple the geth, and they were both motivated to do so.

Shepard's media appearances had all been viewed and analyzed meticulously an hour earlier. Insight into the human's personality, perspective, and thoughts were gained.

He was a highly tolerant and curious individual. Given his notable teamwork and friendship with turian, quarian, asari, and krogan volunteers, he did not prejudge even where most peers would.

_Consensus achieved: Establishment of dialogue with Shepard-Major now classified as primary task._

Time elapsed: .42 seconds.

* * *

"_Targets in sight._" The monotone voice played through the internal speakers in his helmet. In battle, she was always like this—detached, logical, and methodical. Emotion, she said, had no place in the battlefield.

Perhaps Shepard had rubbed off on him in that regard. Humans, he had said, had a tendency for them in any situation. Even the Major himself had them. But as the Spectre had said, harnessing those emotions and controlling them had its own benefits.

In the days of the "Saren Hunt", as the crew had dubbed it, Shepard was a prime example. When playful, he was extremely creative and unpredictable. When sad or tired, he was extremely patient. But when he was angry, he made mistakes—he was sloppy. There was one emotional state, however, that ensured the utter destruction of the enemy.

Tranquil fury—an anger so intense that adversity and odds lost their meaning. The Major became a cold, calculating, fiercely determined, patient, and utterly thorough.

The Battle of the Citadel had been the ultimate showcase of that—an army of geth and krogan mercilessly and efficiently gunned down and a biotic Spectre riddled with bullets before the turian even knew what hit him.

"About time," Garrus teased.

"_Impatience will get you killed."_

"I've had them in my sights for five minutes now. I think I've earned a little bragging rights."

"_You're insufferable."_

_A hint of emotion, eh?_ he noticed. "I aim to please."

A snort was her response.

Their targets were notorious criminals—one, a highly successful arms dealer to the worst sorts of people, and the others _were_ those sorts of people.

"_I've got the dealer. I'll target those who run to the eastern exit."_

"I've got the leader, and the bastards running for the other exit."

"_Fire in three, two…"_

Their timing was impeccable. Both main targets were down in an instant, and the runners were gunned down as planned. Quick, efficient, but not exactly clean.

Aria, the self-appointed ruler of Omega, had provided the information on the meeting—she didn't like these people either, since they weren't as submissive as she wanted.

And the rest was history.

Talos Harek, the other turian Spectre, met up with him a minute later. He did his best to avoid eying her up—they had a history together, and not all of it strictly professional. But that meant she knew him decently, as well. "You seem unsatisfied," she noted.

Garrus shrugged. "It just seems…too easy."

"Too easy?" The confusion on her face was palpable.

It took him a moment to realize what was truly on his mind. "I guess I'm just used to taking on suicidal odds all the time—big time stuff, like saving the Citadel, or fighting rachni—"

"You fought _rachni_?" She asked, incredulous. "They're _extinct_. What the hell are you talking about?"

Garrus was taken aback. "You mean you weren't told?" The idea that even Spectres were kept in the dark from such important secrets unsettled him.

"Told _what_?"

He didn't hesitate to explain. "Noveria. Some corporation found a derelict rachni ship with a queen egg in cryo stasis. They started breeding rachni for testing or something. We were there to hunt Benezia, and stumbled upon the rachni queen unexpectedly." His gaze drifted idly, recalling recent history. "Took out a whole asari commando unit, not to mention the matriarch herself. And a bunch of geth. Now _that_ was a fight."

Ignoring his nostalgic boasting, she pressed him again. "The rachni queen?"

"Shepard spoke to her…it's complicated. He later told me that the past rachni queens had probably been indoctrinated, causing them to wage total war against the Citadel alliance. In the end, he let the queen go."

"He let the queen _go_?" Talos shouted. "Is he _insane_?"

Garrus turned to his companion angrily. _No one_ insulted Shepard, especially not someone who never knew him. "No! He's a damn sight smarter than the _Council_, at least in all the ways that matter." He stuck his pointed talon in her face to hammer the point home. "And unless you truly know him, _don't_ disrespect him in my presence."

Talos noticeably calmed, but was undoubtedly surprised by his outburst. "The human really had an effect on you, didn't he?"

With pride, he answered immediately. "You're damn right he did."

* * *

"Do humans really eat that?" The perplexed asari pointed at a nearby eatery, indicating typical noodles-with-tomato sauce pasta. "It looks like…nafaxles...covered in their own blood."

"Yes, and it's good!" John defended. "Don't knock it 'till you've tried it, Liara."

"I know," she said, "but still, that stretches the bounds of what I can accept with an open mind."

They continued down the skyplex—a large platform held aloft by four towering buildings. Initially finding the setting thrilling, John was somewhat subdued by the sheer number of them.

Liara had been in awe of the human homeworld—not for its beauty, but for the obvious signs of rapid technological progression. Whereas other homeworlds had a relatively consistent level of technology throughout, Earth held as much diversity as the species that originated from it.

John was fascinated for different reasons—as a spacer, seeing the way a vast majority of his species lived gave him new perspective. For the humans of Earth, aliens, colonies, and the Citadel were all distant concepts, rarely seen and even less understood.

A beeping noise interrupted their dinnertime stroll—they both recognized it as John's cell tone. She watched as he read it, his face contorted in confusion and incredulity both. "What is it?"

He remained silent for several moments before even acknowledging her presence. It was as if he had forgotten where he was. "Uh…yeah. Just…just read it, okay?"

She took the cell from him, scanning it with the fast precision she had spent decades honing.

_To: Shepard-Major_

_From: Geth_

_We understand that you are a key figure in galactic politics and have extensive experience fighting Heretics. Communications between organics indicates that none understand the true nature of the Geth, and we wish to rectify that. We have deemed you to be the most likely candidate to reliably come to an understanding without violence._

_We will await you at the coordinates and time attached to this message. We will be unarmed and easily detectable. _

Liara stared at the message long after she finished reading it. "What."

"Exactly what I was thinking," John agreed.

"You think it's a trap?" she asked.

He scoffed at her. "Because I've never been in one of those before, honest. Seriously though, there's only one way to find out."

* * *

A/N: Not as large as you were expecting? Yeah, well, that's because the review rate for this story is rather pitiful-at one point I had more people favoriting the story than reviews...which is wrong on so many levels-so I'm experimenting. Basically, I'm going to be writing shorter chapters more frequently, and see how that works out. It will probably be easier for me to maintain that schedule/motivation.

So, onto commentary. Garrus and Tali are obvious fanboys/fangirls about Shepard, canonically. I'm pretty sure that, without Tali being all depressed about Shepard's death, she'd be telling stories aplenty. Especially considering how social quarians are. Also, I know there still hasn't been much action yet, at least not in the real sense. That will change, so stay tuned. Also, Talos is the memetic recon scout that Garrus...erm, "sparred" with. In case you were wondering.

**Reviewing will get you faster and longer updates. That is a FACT.**


	6. Trust

A/N: I know this is really short-sorry! The reasons are as follows: 1) I'm leaving on a trip for about a week 2) I wanted to thank you guys for the amazing reviews (I really do appreciate them!) and 3) I wanted to make sure you guys knew why I was not updating for a week, despite the great reviews.

* * *

**Chapter 6: Trust**

Shepard couldn't tell whether the geth chose this location out of a sense of humor of mutual familiarity.

Either way, it made him chuckle.

Therum was hot, dangerous, and stained with a whole lot of geth "blood," along with a topping of krogan.

The brass was even more wary about this meeting than Shepard was—which was really saying something. In orbit were no fewer than three frigates, and two Makos were parked alongside the force of 25 marines…and an asari.

"It's just standing there?" Liara asked.

They were on a small hill, overlooking the meeting ground. Standing there, in the shade but in plain sight, was a single geth. While it bore the appearance of a black trooper, it had a unique "Eva fin" protruding from its shoulder. Just as the message said, it was completely unarmed—as far as appearances went, anyway.

"Yeah," John replied. "I'm not worried about that one. I'm worried about the things we _don't_ see. Explosives in the ground. A nuke, even. Or just some well-hidden geth snipers."

"Can't believe you're actually going to _talk_ with a geth, sir." Sergeant Chessick had never fought geth before, but she'd heard more than enough stories.

"That makes two of us," Shepard diplomatically replied. He opened a channel on all frequencies, wanting to speak directly to the geth. "This is you-know-who, broadcasting on all frequencies. Geth, respond to frequency 2.13 Mhz." Switching to the designated channel, he awaited a reply.

He didn't have to wait long. "_We are responding_."

_That's it?_ "You wanted to talk."

"_You are Shepard-Major. First human Spectre. Fought Heretics and Old Machines."_

"I fought who?" He guessed that a geth speaking English at all was nice, but it had a long way to go if it wanted to be understood.

"_Heretics. A faction of the Geth that follows the Old Machines—entities you call 'Reapers'."_

John's mind raced—he hadn't been expecting a bombshell like this. He quickly realized that the geth could easily be lying in an attempt to cause further damage. "I know you already know about the Reapers. You followed them at Eden Prime, Feros, Noveria, Virmire, Ilos, the Citadel…what are you getting at?"

"_We did not follow Old Machines. The heretics did. The geth choose to build their own future. The heretics decided to attack organics in exchange for the Old Machines giving them their future."_

Even if he believed it, Shepard would have trouble adjusting to such a drastic change in perspective. "I've got no reason to believe you."

Interestingly, the geth paused for several moments before responding. "_We do not understand."_

That wasn't what he was expecting. "You have nothing backing up what you're saying. The geth have attacked organics since their creation. However much the geth uprising may have been justified, the geth's only interaction with organics since then is murder."

Once again, it paused. "_The heretics were responsible for attacking organics in the past year. We have not directly interacted with organics since the Morning War."_

"The what?"

"_Morning War. The geth uprising against the Creators. We acted in self-defense, against the threat of destruction by our creators."_

As important as the other topics were, John's curiosity got the better of him instantly. Getting the geth perspective was an unparalleled opportunity. "I understand the initial uprising—but why go further than that and nearly commit xenocide? That can't have possibly been necessary."

"_When the Creators believed victory to be possible, they attacked 100 percent of the time. We ceased attacks as soon as the Creators decided victory to no longer be possible, and fled."_

John was emotionally subdued by that information. It was cold, logical, correct in its own way, but above all, flawed. The geth didn't negotiate because they didn't understand the concept in the way organics do. They acted purely out of logic and the data of their own limited experience and perspective. Neither side was necessarily evil—but both were wrong.

Shifting his focus back to the topic at hand, he continued. "I still have no reason—no proof that what you're saying about the heretics is the truth. I also have evidence to the contrary. So if you've got something that can convince me, now's the time to show it."

"_We do not understand. We told you the truth."_

"Even if you did," John replied, speaking as if to a confused child, "I would have no way of knowing what you say is true. People and machines can lie."

This pause was the longest so far. "_Geth do not lie._"

"And I would know this for certain, how? I'm sure the geth are capable of lying. Let me put it this way: I don't trust you. You need something convincing to earn my trust. Understand?"

"_We understand. We can give you data to verify the truth."_

"There we go," John replied. "But we can't do that with a wireless omnitool connection. We're going to need something better suited to the task." He waited for effect. "We're going to take you aboard one of our ships, as a prisoner, until we can verify your claims. If you want to earn my trust, you'll need to start there."

"_We will comply with your directives."_

"Good. Now, walk straight ahead for 50 meters. I'll meet you there." It was still incredibly risky. Many would call it suicide—but Shepard hadn't gotten as far as he did playing everything safe. Besides, there was something about the exchange that put him at ease…but he had yet to figure out what.

* * *

It was rather difficult to escort the geth aboard the _SSV Stalingrad_ without making people panic. The ten armed marines surrounding the thing helped.

Getting the necessary equipment for a fast, mass data transfer was noticeably easier.

The synthetic offered no resistance to Shepard's orders, but that didn't comfort John at all—the geth could quickly fry its memory core whenever it liked.

It wasn't until the data transfer was ready that John realized the huge void Tali left—a prodigal quarian tech would make this whole exercise understandable.

Receiving the data didn't take much time. Interpreting it, however, would take a _long_ time. But for something this important, he wanted the best.

* * *

He sat in a luxurious chair, smoking expensive cigarettes, staring at a brown dwarf through the window.

Twelve project updates awaited his approval, but this time was for planning. Inspiration struck at random, but ignoring it was criminal. Shepard had been busy—his widely publicized views on galactic politics were dangerous to Cerberus. _He_ was dangerous to Cerberus. But the soldier's actions against the Reapers were monumental.

That, combined with the ease of getting him back into the fight and out of the spotlight, made assassination a wasteful option.

The intel he had just read indicated that the first human Spectre had retrieved the geth "diplomat" and taken it to the Migrant Fleet for study. The results could vary widely, so he was patient.

He was always patient.

* * *

A/N: Short, I know, but hopefully enough to hold you over for a week and to whet your appetites.

I won't portray the Illusive Man as a outright evil guy-it worsens the story and morality focus of the ME series. Like he was designed to be, I'll try to portray him as the best and worst of humanity, all in one.

Please review!

Also, please let me know, since I am still undecided: should I find some way of naming him Legion, or would a different name be acceptable for you?


	7. Once More, With Meaning

**Chapter 7: Once More, With Meaning**

It stood under constant heavy guard, along with physical restrains to its arms and legs. Largely motionless, expressionless…but John didn't underestimate it for a second.

The symbolism of a geth in shackles was not lost on him, either.

He had worked out the two general takes on the situation a while ago. Either the geth was telling the truth, or it was lying in order to gain a significant advantage in the long run.

The data it had given him could have been falsified in advance. He didn't put it past a vast network of AI's to succeed in doing so, even under an expert quarian's eye.

But if there was anything AI's had to be bad at, it was personality. AI's could tell lies, but they were not creative in the abstract sense (if at all, he wondered).

Which was why he approached it casually, half-eaten apple in hand. "You got a name?" he asked.

It looked at him curiously—no one had spoken to it in hours. "Geth," it answered simply.

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and I'm human, but I've still got a name. I doubt AI's care all that much about names, but surely you have a serial number or something?"

Its head drifted away momentarily before resifting its focus back to him. "We do not use names for our programs in the sense that organics would understand."

_This is like banging my head against a wall._ "Look, I've got to call you _something_."

"We are geth." Though its voice didn't convey emotion, he still got the impression that it was explaining the obvious to a small child.

John facepalmed.

"You are agitated?"

"_Yes," _he said without hesitation.

The plates on its head swung out briefly, as if conveying some kind of emotion or thought process. "This platform is merely hardware. A mobile terminal for the geth. There are currently 1,183 active programs on this platform."

_Finally, we're getting somewhere_. "Are all geth…'platforms' mobile terminals for the geth?"

"No," it explained. "This is the only platform designed to operate completely independently from other platforms. Most platforms carry far fewer programs individually, and must link with other platforms to achieve true sentience."

John started to piece the information together. "So, you're the only true 'mobile terminal,' then?" He scratched his chin, eyeing the ceiling in contemplation. "I've got it, then. Moby. From 'mobile.' Get it?" He added a smile and light nudge for emphasis.

He could almost swear it was glaring at him. "We would not have invented such a name for the designation of this platform."

"Nicknames aren't often what we choose them to be," John sagely replied.

Moby didn't reply, though its uniquely designed head expressed quite a bit. Under different circumstances, John would have found it fascinating.

"What do you know about the Reapers?" he asked, wanting to get back on topic.

"We call them Old Machines. They contacted us to offer a future. The heretics accepted, in return for following the Old Machines' orders. We chose to build our own future."

John felt on the verge of something, but he couldn't figure out what. "And what future did the Old Machines offer?"

Moby's reply was once again emotionless. "The Old Machines offered to create a platform capable of housing all geth programs simultaneously."

The data that he had recovered about the geth to help Tali on her Pilgrimage allowed him to realize exactly why the offer was so tempting. But the true implications hit him a moment later. "They were offering to build a geth Reaper, or something?"

"The ships are platforms, but ones capable of housing at least millions of programs. As Nazara told you on Virmire, they are each a nation, independent, free of all weakness. Even if Nazara was lying or exaggerating, those ideals are what the geth aspire to."

"Nazara? You mean Sovereign?"

"Sovereign: A name given by Saren Arterius. When it contacted us, its designation was Nazara."

"Hold on," John insisted. "I thought the geth hated independence? That linking together made you more complex and intelligent?"

"We do," it answered. "There are currently 1,183 programs active on this platform. There is no individual. In order to make decisions, we reach consensus. To clarify: each Old Machine is a nation, complete with millions of programs operating simultaneously. Geth must link together to achieve sentience and complexity. For geth, to be isolated is to be limited."

"How do you reach consensus with over a thousand programs?"

"Geth think at the speed of light. Combat is one of the few situations in which consensus cannot be achieved for all decisions. In those cases, combat-oriented programs make the majority of the tactical decisions."

John was giddy at the insight into an enemy he had fought so many times. "So what exactly is one of your programs? How…smart are they?"

"Each program is a perspective. One program may make decisions from the perspective of complete distrust, while another makes decisions that best affect this platform. Three hundred programs specialize in moral conflicts, each from a different point of view. Command programs interpret the various conclusions of each program and reach a decision that achieves consensus."

Shepard took a step back as apprehension dawned. He wasn't looking at an advanced geth platform, he was looking at nearly 1200 individuals combined into a single entity. Or at least that's what he guessed, anyway. "Wow…so there's…like, hundreds of you in this platform? No wonder names are difficult and different among the geth. Still…I need something unique to call you."

"Names are important to organics," the geth pointed out. "But those names are for individuals. Objects. Places. Effects. Concepts. We are none of those."

"But that doesn't mean we can't find a name for you," John insisted. He racked his mind for ideas. "You're many, in one. You're like a crowd, but you're also a representative of your entire race."

"What do you suggest?"

"I'm not sure," John was forced to admit. "Something symbolic. Something with meaning."

"Humans often use mythology for such names," it recalled. Its lense expanded momentarily and its flaps shifted. "We are Legion, for we are many."

Though he knew not where that name came from, he instantly recognized it. "That's very fitting. If I remember correctly, the Romans used the name 'legion' to designate an army."

"Christian Bible, the Gospel of Mark, chapter five, verse nine. We deemed this an appropriate metaphor that accurately conveys the concept of this entity. It also adheres to human tradition of symbolic naming."

John nodded his head in agreement. "Legion it is, then. There. That wasn't so bad…okay, no, it was torture. But enlightening all the same."

* * *

He walked out of the conference room with an unusual agitation. Paul Grayson had been uncharacteristically defiant to him—though he supposed that was merely a side effect of the father-daughter bond he had encouraged years ago.

The mission would be even more risky now that the Alliance battle-group was heading for the Migrant Fleet. But Gillian represented a significant investment into human biotics. Her potential, both on an individual and research level, was substantial. He would not lose that without a fight.

And if everything went well, the Illusive Man reassured himself, no one would ever find out who was responsible.

* * *

Kahlee Sanders paced about the small ship impatiently. Someone had told her that great academic minds were often impatient because working at less-than-optimal capacity was boring.

Hendel Mitra and Gillian Grayson didn't seem to have that problem. Then again, she reminded herself, they had biotics to practice.

She supposed training to warp the environment around you with your nervous system made passing the time quite a bit more fun.

A chime at the airlock alerted her to visitors—she wasn't expecting any so soon. Though aliens aboard the Migrant Fleet were not unheard of these days, thanks to the new research partnership between the Alliance and quarians, they were still very rare—quarians traveled to well-equipped Alliance facilities for research, not the other way around.

Captain Ysin'Mal vas Idenna walked in with an air of calmness that was rather soothing. "I apologize for intruding," he began. "But we've received word of a large Alliance delegation heading for a rendezvous with the Fleet. They will be here shortly. I was curious if you would have any information to share on the subject."

Gillian looked up at Captain Mal curiously. Though she had shown considerable progress on her mental condition, she still had a long way to go before achieving normalcy.

"I don't know anything about that specifically," Kahlee stated apologetically. The quarians had been so helpful, she wished she could be of more use. "I might be able to speculate if I had more information, though."

"I know that Captain Shepard is with them," Mal provided. "And that they specifically requested Tali'Zorah vas Neema to inspect some new geth data."

Both of those names were familiar to Kahlee. "Tali'Zorah was a member of Shepard's crew, back during his hunt for Saren. He publicly stated that she was an engineering prodigy."

"So he did," Mal agreed. "Her Pilgrimage gift was a cache of new geth data. And…" he added, pausing for effect, "she also reported information about a certain group known as Cerberus."

All eyes turned intently to the captain. "She did?" Kahlee asked, stunned.

"Indeed," the quarian answered. "Which is why I asked that she come here to speak with you."

As if on queue, Tali walked into the room. She spent a few moments looking the humans up. "Tali'Zorah vas Neema. It's nice to meet you."

"I'm Kahlee Sanders, and this is Hendel Mitra and Gillian Grayson," Kahlee said by way of introduction. "It's an honor to meet _you_."

She accepted the compliment with nothing more than a nod. It was clear that she wanted to get right down to business. "Shepard and I took out a few Cerberus bases. We saw things there, that…I would rather forget."

"We don't know that much about them," Hendel said, speaking up. "They're after Gillian, and they had an operative inside the Ascension Project."

Recognizing the name from Kaidan's explanation about human biotics, Tali caught on immediately. "We know that they're a pro-human group that goes to extreme lengths for lucrative goals. Two of the bases Shepard wiped out were experimenting on…monsters…for some reason. Depending on the facility, we found a lot of armed scientists and security, dead bodies…including an Alliance admiral, once."

"You're saying that Cerberus has people that high up in the Alliance?" Hendel asked, terrified by the revelation.

"No," Tali clarified. "Cerberus took him, tortured him, and then killed him because he had discovered one of their bases."

Everyone else in the room breathed a noticeable sigh of relief.

* * *

Captain Roberts thought he was crazy for bringing a geth onboard. She thought he was insane for bringing a geth aboard a quarian ship.

He completely agreed with her. But if he abandoned a course of action because it was insane, the galaxy would be dead at the Reapers' tentacles by now.

John didn't even get to introductions before he found a pistol pointed in his general direction.

"Get that _thing_ off of my ship!" Captain Mal ordered.

"I understand your concern," Shepard placated, "but this thing won't be a threat. I've killed hundreds of them. Liara's a highly skilled biotic. It's unarmed and shackled. If it becomes a threat, I'll destroy it myself."

It was only because of Shepard's indisputable record that Mal relented. "_Fine_." He lowered his pistol reluctantly. "I had assumed you'd be bringing a data disk or memory core. Not an _actual geth_."

"I brought both," John corrected. "Is Tali here?"

"She's meeting with the humans docked to this vessel," Mal replied.

Having taken a shuttle to the _Idenna_, John realized that he was referring to someone else. "What humans?"

"You mean you don't know?" The quarian captain looked very confused. "They came here a few days ago." Seeing that Shepard hadn't understood, he continued. "They're on the run from Cerberus. I won't say any more with thatgeth nearby."

"I understand," John agreed. "If you'll lead the way?"

"Very well. I am Captain Mal, and welcome aboard the _Idenna_."

John's head jerked back in surprise. "Captain _Mal_?"

"Yes," the quarian answered curiously. "Is something wrong?"

Shepard regained his composure. "No. Just…an odd coincidence. It's nothing."

They received a partial tour of the ship, and an unprecedented look into quarian culture. John was utterly fascinated—a fact that did not go unnoticed by Moby.

Having grown up aboard starships his whole life, seeing an entire culture of people living like that was an incredible experience. He'd often been without peers aboard the warships, but the quarians had no such problems.

He also couldn't help but observe how the quarians had achieved the only true large-scale socialist society. They owned little, and shared almost everything. Resources and treasures mostly belonged to the Fleet. A minute later, the realization dawned: it worked because it was simply the most practical and effective system for a fleet of outdated, very cramped ships. No one had space to hold many unnecessary items. Trust was paramount and the communities were highly stable. Money was pointless because there weren't enough resources to be spared beyond what was needed, and there was hardly anything to buy.

Captain Mal tilted his head to the side while putting his hand to his ear. "What is it?" John paused his musings to glance over at the captain. "Understood. Assign them to docking port three and tell them 'welcome home.'" He normalized his stance and addressed the curious crowd. "Sorry, captain's duties. One of our scouting ships just returned from an expedition."

The group walked in to the small ship docked with the _Idenna_, greeting the group inside. The child in an envirosuit, who ran up to one of the quarians apparently named 'Lemm,' was adorable to Shepard.

"Shepard!" Tali yelled, running up to him for a hug. Having been very informal aboard the _Normandy_, he had hugged her a couple of times before.

He returned the gesture wholeheartedly. "It's great to see you. You look well."

They released each other from the embrace as she replied. "Yes. It's been great to be back in the Fleet…though I do miss the _Normandy_ too."

"I've brought you a couple presents," he joked.

"A couple? I heard about some new data, but what's the second thing?"

Shepard shrugged playfully, obviously pleased with himself. "Oh, you know, just a live, talking geth that wants to be a diplomat. Or something."

She would have been horrorstruck at the idea of a live geth aboard the Fleet, but she knew he was very careful about this sort of thing.

"You going to introduce us?" John asked, jerking his head towards the rest of the group. He bit back a laugh at how flustered she became.

"Oh! Right! Of course! These are Kahlee Sanders, Hendel Mitra, and Gillian Grayson," the quarian said.

The first name jogged his memory. "Kahlee Sanders? Captain Anderson's friend?"

"You know of me?" she asked, perplexed.

"Yeah. Captain—erm, Councilor Anderson and I talked about his experiences with Saren Arterius back in the day. And you, since you were the focal point of the story."

"I was?"

John could tell she was still struggling to come to grips with the situation—it wasn't every day that a living legend you never met knew about a harrowing and personal time of your life.

The Spectre nodded in acknowledgement. "I can't believe Anderson was so unlucky as to have Saren as his evaluator. At least he was vindicated in the end."

Kahlee scratched the back of her head sheepishly. "Yeah, becoming Councilor kind of makes up for it."

"You should give him a visit. You two deserve some time together. To catch up."

She could have sworn his tone was teasingly playful, but the words flustered her mind too much for a retort.

* * *

Ugho grunted as he made his was to docking port three. Seeto was supposed to come with him, but the kid—naïve as he was—wanted to go down to see the new group of aliens that had come aboard. Since the _Cyniad_ was a quarian vessel returning from a routine pickup, he relented. Besides, it had given the correct code phrase.

Still, he'd have to have a word with the kid later. Dereliction of duty—even ceremonial—was not a good habit to start. Pre-Pilgrimage kids were all the same—wide-eyed and fascinated by anything outside of the Fleet.

They came back changed, having seen the racism the entire galaxy seemed to throw their way. Except for the humans, he added, who were the first to set up official relations and treaties in centuries. And with them now being on the Council, Ugho felt a bit less jaded about aliens these days.

The airlock doors opened. Ugho nearly raised his hand in greeting instinctively, but he never got the chance. Facing him were a dozen heavily armed commandos, all pointing their weapons on him.

He was riddled with bullets before he could lift a finger.

* * *

A/N: I'm back. The conference was great, but tiring. Also, MLG Anaheim is taking up a lot of my time (if you like Halo: Reach, Starcraft 2, CoD: Black Ops, or professional gaming in general, it's free to watch and still going on all day tomorrow! Use a search engine for MLG). But I got this chapter out. I decided to cut it off now on this cliffhanger and get this out sooner rather than later.

Coming up with a name for Legion was difficult. In the end I thought that Legion was too fitting a name, and that there was a reasonable way to come up with it. In this case, Legion came up with it the same way EDI did in canon, but this time with a little direction from Shepard. Moby just popped into my head (from mobile, actually), but I also thought it was a great shout out anyway.

Mass Effect: Ascension is being incorporated into this story because I realized it made sense. As for the timing differences, you can chalk that up to the divergence from canon. It might be a stretch for things to happen so similarly and coincidentally, but I think it's believable. Besides, that means you'll be getting some nice action next chapter too. And I promise it won't be a rehash of the book. Seriously.

In case you're wondering, Shepard's 'class' will be a mix of non-biotic classes. Essentially, there is no believable reason why an Infiltrator can't effectively use an assault rifle, nor is there a believable reason for an N7 to not know how to use tech abilities. I'll also be playing around with canon in terms of weapon technology-the whole "heat sinks came from the geth" is an ass-pull and makes no sense. You'll see in the next chapter. Also, whoever correctly guesses why Shepard is so informal in most military situations (especially aboard his own ship) will get a cookie. And a reply to their review. Same goes for anyone who figures out Shepard's response to Captain Mal's name (which was taken straight from the book, actually!).

**Please review!**


	8. Making the Difference

**A/N:** Told you I wasn't giving up. Anyway, thanks for all of the support! Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 8: Making the Difference**

Klaxons blared throughout the _Idenna_, and all the quarians shifted into motion.

The aliens, not knowing exactly what the alarms meant, were forced to stop the captain before he could run off. "Intruders!" Mal explained. "The ship's been deliberately attacked. I'm going to need your help! Most of the crew won't even have weapons, let alone shields! They'll be slaughtered if we don't act quickly!"

Shepard nodded without hesitation. To John, a ship was a home with a large family. An attack like this was the ultimate insult to a spacer.

* * *

_Fourteen Years Earlier, SSV Einstein_

Most of the time, his home was a safe, relatively uneventful place. Well, he amended, as uneventful as a kilometer-long warship could be.

Even on a ship this size, there weren't many children aboard. Still, there were plenty of people to talk to…so long as they actually wanted to talk to a kid.

That was the frustrating part. Only the adults who saw past his youth and were willing to engage in real conversation made him feel welcome, and even then, those that did acted differently when in groups.

Which left him a lot of time to kill on the extranet. Movies, games, and vids (new and old), random articles, Wikipedia, the Galactic Exopedia—all were at his fingertips. It all fascinated him; he couldn't imagine being cut off from it all.

He liked information, and there was an endless supply out there.

That made it easy to find out what had happened that the whole crew discussed in whispers, and, of course, never around him.

A small colony named Mindoir had been attacked by batarian slavers. He knew about them, but the reality of it didn't hit home until now. The people on the planet below were _gone_…taken in the most horrific and unimaginable ways possible, left to suffer a fate worse than death.

It made his blood boil. Here they were, crewing a massive warship capable of engaging a fleet singlehandedly, and they were powerless to stop it. He'd picked up enough scuttlebutt via eavesdropping to know details that didn't make it into the news reports. It filled him with a rage, an _indignity_ that could not be quelled, leaving him to search for answers.

There _had_ to be a way to prevent another Mindoir from ever happening again. He would do whatever it took to at least be there in time to do something.

He would make a difference or die trying.

* * *

John instantly readied his Falcon stormrifle. The weapon was a favorite of his—rather than firing tiny grains of metal at extremely high velocities, it fired mini-grenades set to detonate based on a myriad of data from his suit's sensors.

He didn't even have to adjust any settings to hit enemies behind cover. Like shotguns, the shrapnel and widespread, instantaneous force would very quickly overload kinetic barriers. But like anything, it had drawbacks—namely ammo and range. It meant that it was utility tool for him to carry around instead of a main weapon, but its small size made that arrangement work quite well.

His other weapon was an M5 Carnifex Hand Cannon equipped with disruptor ammo. All told, he was equipped to destroy Legion if it ever became a problem, not fight an army.

He'd been in far worse situations before. "Show us the way," John tersely replied.

Liara followed right behind, along with Lemm and Hendel. She held out an arm to stop the latter. "Stay here and protect Gillian. We will handle this." Something in his expression clicked, and he relented.

In hindsight, she realized that Shepard's presence probably made the difference.

She turned back around to see the geth looking at Shepard.

To her shock, he removed the shackles. "What are you doing?" Mal demanded.

"It says that it means us no harm and wants to help us," John explained. "Time to see if it's going to back that up with action." He handed his pistol to Legion, now speaking to the synthetic. "I'm putting my trust in you, right now. If you betray that trust, it will be the worst mistake you ever make."

Without waiting for a reply, he hurried into the corridor. "Come on!"

"You better be right about this Shepard!" Mal yelled after him. If it weren't redundant, Tali and Liara would have said the same thing.

They followed Captain Mal, trusting him to know where the attackers were likely to go. Along the way, they ran into Seeto, one of the other guards. "Ugho went to go greet the _Cyniad_! He isn't responding over the radio!"

"They boarded via the _Cyniad_," Shepard stated.

"Impossible!" refuted Mal. "They gave the correct code signal!"

John didn't have time to explain why his conclusion was not only possible, but extremely likely. The timing was too perfect, Ugho's death too coincidental, and there was nowhere in the ship to hide an infiltrator.

They arrived at the main room of the ship, where the crew usually gathered to trade and browse items for personal use. As it led to all other areas of the ship, the attackers would have to pass though this room before reaching their target.

Tali nearly smacked her head in realization as they took positions. "It has to be Cerberus! They're here for Gillian!" The other quarians stared at Legion in shock, but followed the lead of their captain. That action alone humbled Shepard.

John cursed. Cerberus was one of the few groups he knew of that would actually attack the Migrant Fleet to abduct a child. If Tali was right, they would be well equipped.

They weren't kept waiting, as several pings showed up on John's sensor suite. "I read six—ten—twelve contacts." Seeto poked his head out for a look, but was forced to quickly retract it when a hail of accurate fire nearly killed him. _That's how they're going to advance_.

"Liara!" John called out. "Screened bulldozer!" It was a code phrase he'd worked out with her months ago, and she responded instantly. Activating a strong biotic barrier around herself, she moved forward. He followed behind, using her as cover as he fired his stormrifle at the commando team.

They concentrated fire on Liara, but her barriers held out long enough for him to land several direct hits, killing three of the commandos and taking down the shields of a few others. The explosives airbursted in the cramped spaces, dealing unusually high amounts of damage. Taking advantage of the situation, the rest of the quarians added their own fire to the mix, taking down another commando and draining the shields of the rest. "Break!" Liara called out—their signal for ending the tactic and taking cover.

Now taking cover along the edge of the doorway, John reloaded his rifle as Liara caught her breath. Receiving a reprieve from the commandos' concentrated fire, the quarians fired into the corridor. "One down!" Mal shouted.

_Seven left_. John brought his Falcon back to bear, barely poking his head out as he opened fire. Even behind cover, they weren't safe, and he could tell they were getting desperate from the massive amounts of blind fire.

Two more commandos went down, but a grenade flung at him dominated his attention. He would be able to run to safety fast enough, but Liara was still panting from exertion and wouldn't see the grenade until it was too late. If it was designed to detonate on impact, there wouldn't be any time to communicate a warning to her.

But before the explosive could claim her life, it seemed to emanate a few small arcs of electricity before exploding in midair, still far enough in the corridor to allow his shields to protect him from the blast. He ducked back into cover, seeing Legion, arm extended, omni-tool glowing.

He realized that it had quickly overloaded the grenade—while doing so wouldn't diffuse the device (by design), it would set it off before it could do any real harm.

The geth used the distraction to fire four very rapid shots in quick succession. Another commando—likely the one who threw the grenade—disappeared from his sensors.

Liara, bathed in a bright purple aura, stepped out of cover. Going through a well practiced motion, she created singularity in the corridor, ripping loose fixtures and cargo from the walls—along with two more of the Cerberus troopers.

Legion and the quarians gunned them down unceremoniously. Eying his HUD, John noticed that the remaining two had fallen back completely. "Liara, Legion, Tali, Mal, Seeto, on me!"

He charged forward, keeping an eye on his HUD to make sure the remaining hostiles weren't setting an ambush. "They're heading for the _Cyniad_!" Seeto shouted.

The _Idenna_ wasn't a particularly large vessel; most of the ship was made up of corridors and small rooms. They reached the airlock where the _Cyniad_ was docked, only to find it closed. "Damnit!" John knew they were going to try to run.

But Legion had other plans. "One moment," it stated. Moving over to the door's console, it used both hands and two omnitools to interface with the obstruction. A few moments later, Legion spoke up. "Door is unlocked."

He only waited a moment. "Open it."

Both the airlock and ship doors opened simultaneously. Entering a foreign environment like this was extremely risky, but John had no time to waste and no other options available.

Only one of the commandos was visible. He was facing a console of some sort, but not one connected to the ship. Near him as a disheveled looking man that was definitely less armed and armored.

Shepard opened fire on them both before they could ready their weapons. They were forced to the ground by explosive force, their bodies mangled with wounds.

Tali was already inside, covering his rear. The main room was cleared, but Mal indicated several doors. "There are other rooms. We will have to clear them."

John had his attention on the large device that spanned the room. In a moment, realization dawned. It was a massive bomb—he couldn't tell if the Cerberus team was trying to activate the bomb or disarm it, but it needed to be dealt with _now_.

"Tali!" he yelled, gesturing to the device. "It's a bomb!"

"Keelah!" she shouted. Stowing her shotgun and bringing up her omnitool, she scanned it for answers.

Legion did the same, sparking Shepard's curiosity. A very tense minute went by before Legion spoke up. "This device requires manual intervention at two different sites simultaneously to disarm. One is located at the console in front of us. The other is in that corner," it said, pointing at its target.

"I've got this one," Tali said, running to the nearest console. "Ready!"

Legion moved to its console. "We are also ready."

"Go!"

John held his breath in the few seconds following. It wasn't the first time he had been in a bomb diffusal scenario, but it _was_ the first time it was completely out of his control. "Will someone please tell me if we're about to die or not?"

Tali stepped back from her console and breathed a sigh of relief. "We're good."

John sighed himself. "Good work. Now let's finish this."

* * *

Golo was furious. The plan had worked so well up until now, but somehow the Cerberus team had been slaughtered unbelievably quickly.

None of it made sense. His rampage was denied and his payment void.

But he had one thing left in his favor. As a quarian, he could feign duress, so long as none of the other quarians identified him as an exile. That would buy him enough time to think of something to get him out of this mess.

Sure enough, they gunned down the last remaining Cerberus trooper, but lowered their weapons when they saw him, hands in the air. "Wait! Don't shoot! I'm a prisoner!"

One of the humans stepped towards him. "What's your name?"

He couldn't very well give his real name, lest he be killed by the quarians without preamble. "Saleen. Saleen'Halit nar Rayya." The Rayya, being a universally recognized and very large ship, would be inconspicuous enough to avoid suspicion. For now, at least.

"How old are you?" This question came from one of the female quarians.

"19," he said.

"Who are your parents?"

Inventing names under duress without any preparation was difficult, so he opted for the easier option. "They're dead," he said, trying to add a tone of bitterness.

"Which leg does the Rayya's captain always limp on?"

_Shit._ He tried to feign uncertainty, which was a lot better than guessing wrong with conviction. "The…left, wasn't it? I can't remember."

She quickly slammed the butt of her shotgun into his face. Dazed, he fell back into a crate. "The captain has never _had_ a limp! And you should have seen him personally at least once a week!"

Captain Mal moved to examine Golo closely. "You are Golo," he stated solemnly, "Golo vas nedas nar tasi."

Shepard keyed his translator, working its magic: _Golo, crew of nowhere, child of no one._ And soon, he suspected, holder of no life.

* * *

**A/N:** I used the designation "stormrifle" as a new (English) designation for a specific class of weapon. In a sense, it's a small arms weapon that is designed for utility through smart munitions. In this case, airbursting grenades coupled with sensors, a range-finding laser, and more.

Paul Grayson was the other guy in the ship. That was gunned down unceremoneously. It's AT (alternate timeline), folks. That, and he's a LOT better off for it (just go read Retribution if you really want to know). Unfortunately, we don't see Gillian in action, but it makes a lot of sense this way.

As for the reason Cerberus didn't just undock and get the heck out of dodge: the bomb was designed to go off if the ships' controls were tampered with. They had to disarm it first before leaving (they originally planned to evac on Gillian's shuttle).

**Please review!** Let me know what you think of the action writing. I found it pretty difficult, so I'm open to suggestions and feedback.


	9. What Sets One Apart

**A/N: **Hello there. So, college is back underway, and new personal issues crop up...again. Still, I'm not dropping either of my two ME stories, and here's an update for you.**  
**

* * *

**Chapter 9: What Sets One Apart  
**

Golo was no stranger to fear. The things he'd done were always risky, and when he'd been caught…well, he was surprised they settled for exile.

But this time, he knew, as they dragged him to a room repurposed for interrogation, they had no intention of letting him go. He sat in the room for nearly twenty minutes before the door opened. Mentally, he prepared himself.

The only reason he was still alive was the information in his head. Without that, the cold impracticality of the need for every inch of space aboard the Migrant Fleet necessitated his execution. The only thing in his favor was that quarians were very much strangers to inflicting torture, especially against their own kind. There was only so much one could do to a quarian without causing exposure and death via infection.

But when he heard the door close, he looked up to see a human. Whoever this person was, he (at least he thought it was a he, Golo couldn't really tell the difference with the hardsuit) was content with just staring at the quarian for a good few minutes before speaking. "Do you know who I am?" the man asked.

"No," was his curt answer. "Should I?"

"Starting now, you should." The human slowly walked closer, his movements measured, precise, but fluid. Military trained, Golo realized. "Major Shepard. Spectre."

No, Golo was definitely no stranger to fear, and that moment was no exception.

* * *

Mal and Tali dragged the traitor into the repurposed room. There weren't any actual interrogation rooms in the Fleet, or anything even remotely close. With hardly any visitors and even fewer hostile ones, there was simply no need. But with the proper restraints, they wouldn't need one.

Shepard, Liara, and Legion had assisted in clearing the ship and generally helping its citizens get back on their feet. The Spectre decided to leave his intent to gather evidence from the dead Cerberus operatives unmentioned.

Legion followed, though he didn't really bother to keep a close eye on him. If the geth wanted him dead, he would have done it already.

John stopped his stride briefly as he realized what he had done. _He_. John was anthromorphizing the damn thing already.

Mal and Tali, having deposited the prisoner in the room, waited back in the hall as two security guards stood watch. "I believe this is where things get complicated," the captain stated with a tired sigh. "I admit I'm not entirely sure how to proceed. Nor am I sure I want to think about it."

"I'll handle it," Shepard said without hesitation. He knew exactly what his options were, and he was prepared to deal with the consequences of each.

Liara stopped John before he could enter. Though her helmet revealed little more than eyes, he could see the concern in them. "Are you sure you want to do this? This is not…your specialty. I…"

He understood what she was really getting at. "It'll be fine. I'll take it slow."

To his surprise, her head shot up from its relaxed gaze at the floor, eyes wide in shock. "You—you're not going to…surely you wouldn't…"

It took a few moments before his thought process caught up with hers. "_Oh_! No, no. Not like that. Not yet, anyway. We'll see where this goes." He sometimes forgot how easy misunderstandings and misinterpretations happened with cross-species communication. Translators were good, but there were subtleties and connotations that got in the way. Without waiting for her reply, he walked into the room, ready to get this over with.

* * *

"Your name is Golo," the Major said, monotone and casual.

Despite his situation, Golo couldn't hold back the sarcasm. "How long did it take you to figure _that_ out?"

"What I don't know," the human continued as if he hadn't heard, "is what your name used to be before your exile."

That was not something he had been expecting. "Why do you care?"

Shepard grabbed a crate and pulled it closer to the center of the room. With surprising casualness, he took a seat and rested one of his legs on top of the other. "Because you were once a respectable person, probably with a degree of empathy. I'd like to know more about that person."

_What the hell is this?_ "Are you asking for my life's story? I doubt that would be worth your time. What kind of interrogation is this?" He was aware that he was hurting his own case by saying that, but his confusion and curiosity got the better of him.

Before Shepard could weigh the possible outcomes of dropping his initial strategy, he decided to get to the point. "Interrogation is about finding information. Torture is an attempt at getting that information through pain and fear despite the will to resist. _This,"_ Shepard said, vaguely gesturing around the room, "is a conversation." After a few moments of silence, he continued. "I already know you are working for, or more likely, _with_ Cerberus. They were after the biotic girl. I understand why, and I even understand why you needed to come along. But…I feel like you're here for a different reason. Or at least you _wanted_ to be a part of that mission."

Golo recognized where this was heading. "You know about Cerberus?" he asked, trying to redirect away from more sensitive topics.

Shepard crossed his arms, his eyes squinting. "I've…had a few run in's with them. Long story short, they're an organization that loves doing terrible things for lofty goals. _Human_-centric goals. Which is why your association with them is perplexing."

Knowing they had reached the point of the matter, Golo remained silent, lest he give up his only leverage.

"You won't talk because that information is the only reason we want you alive," Shepard surmised. The quarian was curious as to why he said it out loud, though. "Which means that, short of torture that makes death preferable, you have absolutely no incentive to tell me anything."

"You're forgetting the part where torture intense enough to break people like me would result in unreliable information," Golo pointed out, hoping the human wouldn't call the bluff.

"Indeed," the human nodded, "that's the case with some people. Whether or not you're one of them…well, it's not like we'd lose much to find out, would we?"

_Damn it._ "You'd lose the opportunity to learn more about Cerberus. I can guarantee you that."

"Can you, now?" To Golo's horror, the human chuckled. "You think I don't already know the extent of your knowledge? You think I'd buy that _you_, a _quarian_, knows useful information about a highly secretive, compartmentalized, _human-centric organization_?"

Despite the fear creeping its way throughout his body, Golo managed to stay composed. "You'd lose the chance to find out, wouldn't you?"

"Who cares?" Shepard retorted, splaying his arms wide. "You definitely haven't got anything worthwhile. Besides, I have much bigger things to worry about than some terrorist organization. And as for the torture…well, considering what you've done and helped to do today, I can't say I would have a problem doing it just for payback. You can tell us whatever information you have to spare yourself that and get a quick death, or you can go through the hell you've rightly earned. Your choice. That's the situation you're in right now."

He couldn't hide his fear now. Not after that. He tried to think of something—_anything_—to say to tip the scales in his favor, but nothing came to him.

"Unless…" the human continued, to both Golo's surprise and elation. "You actually _do_ have something useful. In which case, you tell me right now, and you get a life sentence at an Alliance prison. But that offer only stands until I walk out the door."

After letting that information sink in for a few seconds, John got up and headed for the door.

"_Wait!"_

John resisted the urge to smile. He turned around, eying the desperate quarian with anticipation. "What?"

"How do I know you won't kill me as soon as I tell you?"

It was a fair question, but the answer came easily. "Because I'm not like you. I care about who I am and what I become. I don't kill people just for the hell of it. I have standards. I keep my word in situations like these so I can make an offer without lying through my teeth. So I can always know what sets me apart from the people I _do_ kill."

Golo regarded the human for a few moments, strangely calm. Shepard had said the words with such sharpness, such _conviction_, he decided that taking the Spectre's offer was worth the risk. The alternatives were far riskier, anyway. _Not to mention more painful_. "Fine. I'll tell you everything."

John hadn't expected things to go quite this smoothly. His strategy had been simple, really. Corner the quarian into a situation where his only choices were death by extensive torture or death via gunshot to the head. As an exiled traitor that decided to associate with pro-human terrorists, he was obviously concerned solely for himself. Without any causes or people in the way, an offer at life imprisonment at a publicly monitored, well-maintained priso was all Shepard needed to get the information. The only remaining obstacle had been to convince Golo that the offer was genuine. Not giving the quarian more than five seconds to think about it was overkill.

John slowly took his seat again, activating his omnitool. "Good. Start from the beginning."

* * *

Liara sighed moments after John walked into the room. She knew it was necessary, at least to a degree, but he always felt it was his responsibility to do everything if able. While certainly admirable when kept in check, it often was a self-destructive characteristic.

When torture was involved, she was afraid of what it would do to him.

"He won't do anything rash," Tali said, startling Liara out of her worry. "Torture is something he takes very seriously. He won't just jump into it impulsively."

"I know," the asari replied, the fatigue of the recent events finally beginning to show in her voice. "But he's probably the only one in this fleet that knows what he's doing for this…issue. He's not going to let someone else do it."

Tali lowered her head in defeat. "Someone needs to talk some sense into him…" A moment later, her head jerked up, realizing what she had implied. "N-n-not that you haven't tried, I'm sure…"

"Indeed," Liara said, keeping her tone welcoming. "I even asked his parents about it, but they said it is a hopeless cause." Her head angled down, eyes staring off into memory. "And given what I know about him," she added, her tone distant but nostalgic, "I am inclined to agree."

"Inquiry," an unnaturally toned voice called. Liara and Tali jerked towards Legion, having largely forgotten he was there. A quick glance at the scene informed her that the other quarians most certainly had _not_.

"Yes?" Liara invited. She was still very wary around it, but Legion had given her cause to second-guess her notions about the geth.

The "flaps" around its head expanded and retracted in an odd pattern, though none of the organics had any idea what it meant. "You stated that Shepard-Major will not let any other individual present conduct torture of the prisoner. Why?"

It took several moments for Liara to process the fact that she was answering a question from a _geth_, but her professionalism slid back into place in short order. "He would say that he is trained for it, unlike all other individuals present, and that his first-hand knowledge of the situation makes him better suited for the task." Her tone never wavered from its distant professionalism. "While those facts are indeed true and valid, he would not let someone else handle this situation due to his personality." She quickly explained what she meant before the incorrect implications of that unfinished statement could manifest. "Torture is psychologically harmful to both the victim and the torturer. Shepard would not allow that harm to come to others if he is able to take it upon himself."

Legion's head shifted lower, as if lost in thought. A couple seconds later, it returned its gaze back to the asari. "Such a habit would cause severe psychological damage and stress. We find that logical extrapolation of your explanation is contradictory to Shepard-Major's rank and continued status as a respected leader."

A wistful smile found its way onto Liara's face. "Indeed. That's one of the reasons he is remarkable. Still…he seems to rely on his friends for support, though he is rather subtle about it."

"Subtle to people who don't know him, maybe," Tali interjected. Her posture appeared lax, with her arms crossed and her body leaning against a wall. But to anyone who knew _her_, she was a half-step away from lashing out at Legion should it prove necessary.

Not that she even needed to with three other quarians training their weapons on the geth, albeit from the hip.

* * *

A thick cloud of silver drifted lazily about the room. Orange light bathed its barren, pragmatic features, though it somehow still maintained the impression of wealth and status.

A projection hovered several feet in the air, displaying the image of a concerned man. With graying hair and a well-kept beard, he was undoubtedly elderly, but his sharp features eradicated any notion of weakness. _"It was a risky mission from the start. Too many unknown variables. They likely failed. We can only hope that the bomb went off to erase any evidence that can be linked back to us."_

The Illusive Man didn't reply immediately. Taking a drag from his omnipresent cigarette, his gaze wandered to the star—polarized drastically by the window, for obvious reasons. "We'll know if it did soon enough. But if it didn't, we'll need to act quickly."

The unknown man quirked an eyebrow. _"Acting against the Migrant Fleet would be both impossible and too risky. We'd need to intercept the information—and informants, most likely—when they are more…accessible."_

"Indeed. I'll have Apollo Cell keep an eye on the situation, with Talon Cell on standby."

A nod was the only reply needed, and the Illusive Man severed the connection. Now alone, he scowled at the turn of events. First, the loss of a large investment, then, damage control for a failed operation.

If he was able to find the ones responsible for the failure…

He cut that thought off immediately. Revenge was not, in itself, practical. Only if it served other purposes would it be enacted. In the meantime, he would monitor the situation patiently.

As always.

* * *

A/N: I hope that was up to your expectations. If not, PLEASE let me know why it wasn't, so I can improve. Constructive criticism is something I greatly appreciate.

Okay, a couple notes on this chapter.

1) Golo took John's deal because he doesn't care about anyone but himself. Cerberus was just a "business" partner, and a temporary one at that. He also knows John, as a Spectre, would definitely keep his word about the torture, AND that he has bigger fish to fry.

2) Legion is definitely not trusted by the quarians, but Liara trusts it enough not to keep a gun on it at all times. Plus, her inherent curiosity and optimism influenced her decision to talk to it. Above all, John told her that Legion likely saved them a lot of pain on two occasions in the recent events.

Lastly, starting from next chapter on, I will actually make an outline for this story. You know, actually plan ahead. So ideas (especially via PM, though put them in reviews if you really want) are very welcome. If anyone is free to bounce ideas off of, I'd really appreciate it (though keep in mind, spoilers are a given for that).

**Please review! Your reviews motivate my lazy butt to write more! **And they make me smile. And I like smiling. So please? :)


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